Hendgelin
by TheNewJeniferChurch
Summary: Harry Potter is dead. This is his new life in Middle Earth. HP/OC, not a big part of the story. Brotherhood fic.
1. Lost

Premise: How would the story change if Frodo had a brother? And what if that child was a reincarnated Harry Potter?

Credit: The Lord of the Rings belongs to the estate of J. R. R. Tolkien. Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. No credit or money has been taken by the author for these creations.

Elvish of Potter Family Motto: _Aras ir nelqin nath raw_. (The stag at bay becomes a lion.)

 **Hendgelin**

Lost

 _Harry closed his eyes for the last time, grateful for the darkness that was beginning to cover his senses. He was tired, far too tired to keep fighting a war which should have been ended long ago. When he had killed Voldemort, that should have been the end of it. But the Death Eaters had gone underground, and Harry had become an Auror, fighting to find them and protect the people that they would harm. He'd fought Voldemort from the age of eleven and killed him at seventeen. He'd been fighting Death Eaters from then to now, on the very edge of thirty-one. It was midnight, and it was now his birthday. His beeping watch said so. With his last breath, he said, "Make a wish, Harry." And then the darkness came, followed by blinding light._

Drogo Baggins was enjoying a pleasant afternoon fishing out of a small creek with is young son, Frodo. The boy was not interested in fishing, but was having a grand old time chasing a large frog that was hopping along the river bank. It was an adorable sight, and he found himself wishing dreadfully that Frodo's mother, Primula, had come with them to see it. He reminded him so much of her. but she had told him just to go on and spend some time alone with his son. She was taking the opportunity to clean their home top to bottom.

The creek was not shallow, and eventually it fed into the Brandywine River, but Drogo had no fear that Frodo would come to harm from frolicking around the edges of it, so for a time, he paid strict attention to nothing but his pole and his pipe, enjoying pleasantness of the weather and the quiet. Therefore, he was quite startled when Frodo shouted in surprise that he had found something. He perched his fishing rod where it wouldn't be dragged into the water if a curious fish took his bait, and left to go and see what had gotten his son's attention.

Seeing him coming, Frodo said, "Father! It's a baby! But he's as big as me!"

Drogo looked and saw that it was, indeed, a newborn child of the big people, nearly as large as his nearly-three-year-old son and covered in nothing but creek mud. His cord was still attached, so he had to be mere hours old. His mother had to be near, unless he'd been sent down river, and she might be hurt. "Did you see anyone else, Frodo?"

The boy shook his head. "No, father."

Drogo reached into the mud and picked up the child, careful not to snag the umbilical on anything. "Oh, he's ice cold. Let's get you cleaned up, little one, and then we can get something warm and dry on you." He shook his head in wonderment, his suspicions about the infant's mother getting worse. The child was perfectly healthy-looking, current condition notwithstanding, but he'd been put into the river like rubbish. Could a child, any child, actually be unwanted? Such a thing was foreign to the Hobbit, but he knew that it happened some times, especially among the race of men.

Frodo asked, "Is he okay, Father?"

He smiled down at his son, and then back at the baby. "He will be, son. I promise that he will be."

Harry couldn't understand what had happened. His mind felt so muddled, and he was cold and hungry. The giant child had gone screaming for his father; a natural reaction, he supposed, but their conversation had led him to a startling conclusion. He'd been made into an infant, a newborn, in fact, if that dangling from his belly meant what he thought it did. How had this happened? He'd been dying! Maybe he _had_ died. _Lily._

He'd left his daughter, Lily, alone and that thought saddened him beyond belief. That emotion translated to wailing tears because of his current condition of babyhood, though the person pulling him out of the mud took it to mean that he was cold, and hungry and uncomfortable. He said, "There, there, little man-child. We'll get you cleaned up, warmed up and drying by the fire in no time."

That thought satisfied his baby self quite a lot, but the part of him that was no child still cried for the fate of his daughter. The man who held him didn't seem to mind, and as he cleaned Harry up, tying his umbilical cord to keep it from getting infected, and placing him in a warm blanket, Harry cried himself out. He could do nothing for his child, being one himself, and though hunger still gnawed at him, he was physically and emotionally exhausted, so he slipped into sleep.

When Harry woke next, he was in a much different place. Instead of being outside by a river, he was in a cot looking up at a mobile of birds. He couldn't see them very well, but he could tell that they were birds. He was warm and dry, except for one place. He tried to frown about that, but his apparent age made it come out as a little whimper. His mind was intact, but he was a baby, and that meant he was going to be in some embarrassing situations, namely to do with his bodily functions. He'd changed his own children's nappies! He shouldn't have to have his own changed! But as he physically was newborn, he really didn't have any control, and wouldn't for the next year and a half or so.

A woman appeared over the edge of his cot, and he looked at her. Her face was so blurry! Idly, he wondered if he could get his magic to react into fixing his eyes. He knew that young children most often produced accidental magic when they wanted something or were stressed, and this was a little of both. He also knew how magic felt, so he focused on that and his eyesight and _willed_ his vision to clear. He surprised himself when it did, and he giggled at the woman in joy. She grinned back at him. "Well, aren't you a happy baby? Let's get you changed and fed, sweet one, and then we'll go sit in front of the fire."

She was a lovely woman, really, with blue eyes set in a fair face framed and with tight, honey-colored curls. And she liked to talk while she worked, too. "You know, I could have handed Drogo's ears to him, bringing home a stray child like that. But I can tell, you're not going to be any trouble. You haven't even eaten your first meal yet, and you still don't cry all that much. How anyone could throw away a child, even if they were unexpected, I'll never know."

Harry frowned at that. He supposed it was a natural conclusion, given the nature of the human race and the way that he'd been found. But his mother had died to save his life, and he hated anyone thinking that about her. Inwardly he shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it, not until he got old enough to speak.

The woman had changed his nappy, and then taken him out into a warm kitchen. A pot of water was gently bubbling on the wood-burning stove, and he noted how quaint the feel of the whole place was. Small rooms, with country decor, but filled with light from hearth, lamp and window. Even Mrs. Weasley's house hadn't been this airy, though it had seemed as small. She took a bottle of milk from the ice box, which was a literal ice box and not a refrigerator, and placed it to warm in the boiling water. Then she took a leather glove and cut off the thumb, fixing it to the end of the bottle with a round clamp before poking a few holes in the tip with a sewing needle.

Warm bottle in hand, the woman picked Harry up, cradling his head expertly in her hand, and went to sit down in a rocking chair. He ate from the bottle, surprised when his infant instincts led the way, and at how good it tasted. Well, it _had_ been quite some time since he'd been reborn, at least hours, certainly. She sang to him as she fed him, and he felt his eyes grow heavy again. She turned him and patted his back until a bubble of air presented itself loudly, then rocked him for a while, alternately singing and talking to him. Soon he was lulled back to sleep, his only thought for his full belly and his warm conditions.

It was a very uncomfortable position to be in. Harry knew who he was, and could remember things about his life, but he couldn't always think about them clearly. Concepts were clearest, like pain, hunger, and emotion, but direct memories of the events that caused them were very difficult to recall. He really was a baby, even more so now than when he first woke up. But he knew that wasn't always true.

New memories weren't as hard. Every moment since he'd awakened in the river mud was clear as a bell. But those memories were baby-friendly, too. He didn't think he'd forget, but that right now his young brain couldn't handle adult thoughts.

Drogo and Primula Baggins were wonderful, kind people. Many, upon finding an apparently abandoned child would rescue that child, and even get them clean, dry and fed. But not many would essentially foster that child while an effort was made to find its parents. Nor was there any apparent reluctance or resentment on their part for having to take care of a child not their own. Given his experience with the Dursleys, this was a relief. He liked their small son, Frodo, as well, the boy reminding him of the elder of his own sons, but with a gentleness that was purely his own.

Drogo had sent messages to all the villages near the shire where humans, or "big people" as the Hobbits called them, lived, inquiring after the family of a foundling boy, but in the time from his birthday and Frodo's, no response came. Not that Harry was expecting one; his mother here was the earth itself. He had no idea why or how, just a bone deep knowledge that it was true.

They took a break in their search to have Frodo's birthday party. Harry was yet nameless to the Hobbits, and far too small to participate in the party, but he learned a lot about the kind of people Hobbits were. Generally speaking, they were home bodies, much more interested in the states of their gardens and the latest gossip than what was happening in the rest of the world. They sought no adventure, and most would be horrified at the thought of it. They loved food, comfort and friends, as well as the occasional party, and a boy's third birthday was no exception. Frodo gave a toy to every child who came to his party, including a stuffed bird for Harry, who was perhaps more appreciative of it than a babe of his age should be, but no one noticed.

Home and hearth, food and family, and a healthy appreciation of the finer things in life was the way of the Hobbits of the Shire; the perfect place to raise children. But Harry was not one of them, and he knew that they would probably find him a human family to be with soon.

In the following months, Drogo and Primula did what they could, both to care for the child and to find his own people and mother. But though they left many messages in Bree and even Fornost about him, there was never an answer.

Drogo had occasion to speak to his cousin, Bilbo, the only Hobbit he knew of who had done any traveling in the outside world on a night when he had come to his home outside Hobbiton for a social call. "Hello, cousin. Aren't you looking well preserved this eve!"

Bilbo snorted at what was quickly becoming a very old joke in the Shire. "And I hear you've picked up something unusual." So Drogo showed him the nameless child he'd been fostering. Already, he was having trouble picking the child up, and he was only six months old! Bilbo thought the lad was absolutely adorable, and Drogo couldn't help but agree, but there were serious matters that needed discussing. "What are you planning to do with him?" asked the older Hobbit.

Drogo nodded. "That is precisely what I wanted your advice about. I've tried for six months to find his family, and with no luck. I'm afraid they must be either unwilling to take him back," and here he sighed deeply, "or are simply dead."

The babe began crying, and that was the first time he ever had in Bilbo's presence. Thinking him hungry, Bilbo went to the kitchen to begin warming some milk and butter in a pot. "I suppose I could ask Gandalf what he thinks."

Drogo wrinkled his nose at that thought. "No, no need to worry a great wizard about so small a thing as the disposition of a lost child." He sighed and pulled a feeding bottle out of his pack, which held the various things he kept with him for taking care of the child.

"I doubt Gandalf would consider it a worry." He watched Drogo closely as he asked, "What about finding him a new home among the big people, hmm? We can probably find someone to take him in."

Drogo stared deeply into the child's eyes, which were a marvelous bright green, made even more so by his crying. There was something in those eyes, something that made Drogo want to weep himself, and which he wished nothing more than to erase. "I'm thinking of keeping him, of Primula and I raising him ourselves."

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the still-nameless child stopped crying, staring wide-eyed at his rescuer. Bilbo looked at the boy and at his cousin. "Is this the best thing for him? Or for you? I know what it's like to be considered different in our gossipy culture, and after all, he's not even a year old and he's almost as large as your three-year-old. Do you even have a room he'll fit in as he gets older?"

"I've got enough land on my property that I could expand my Hobbit hole quite a bit. I could easily build a room that would fit him as he grows, and after all, doesn't Gandalf fit quite nicely in your own living room?"

Bilbo nodded. "Aye, and alongside thirteen dwarves. All right. You'll have to inform the Mayor, of course, but I don't think he can legally stop you from keeping him. Making it official, even! Adopt him for your son! He'll be Frodo's brother in every way that counts." Bilbo paused. "But you must promise me not to do this lightly, cousin. If you adopt him, it must be with your whole heart. No child deserves less, no matter which race they were born to."

Drogo snorted. "Of course. He deserves a happy childhood, not a rushed decision that harms him later."

But Bilbo knew his cousins well enough to say that the big infant had already dug his way completely into their hearts. They boy was already their son, no matter what lack of legal proof there might be. Truthfully, the lad couldn't have fallen in with a better pair of Hobbits. He shook his head, a smile on his round face. "So, what shall you name him?"

Frodo chose that moment to pop his small head around the corner from where he had been eavesdropping. "Are we keeping the baby, Father? Will he be my brother?"

Feigning disapproval, Primula pointed at him and said, "You, are supposed to be in bed, young man."

"I know, Mum, but are we?"

Drogo looked first at Primula, asking her the question with raised eyebrows. She grinned at him, giving her consent. Then he smiled at is son. "Would you be alright with that?"

"I think it would be 'nnnderful!" Frodo loved the word "wonderful," but had trouble actually saying it.

He grinned more widely at his son's enthusiasm. "So do I. What do you think we should name him, then?"

"Green?" the boy asked innocently. Bilbo let loose a hearty laugh at the answer.

Chuckling a little himself, Drogo said, "Well, he does have marvelous green eyes, but I'm not sure he'd like me hollering it at him when it's time to come in for supper." He scooped Frodo up and started tickling him until he let escape the tinkling of his infectious laughter.

Bilbo thought it was a perfect name, though. It just needed some trimming. "Well, what about Gelin, then? That's Elvish for green, and it's not quite so blunt."

Primula smiled and nodded sharply. "That's perfect. I love it!"

Drogo turned to the newly-named boy. "What do you think of that, hmm? Gelin Baggins!"

Gelin giggled and reached out to Drogo, asking to be picked up. It was the perfect reaction, as if he were really agreeing with the choice, never mind that he was too young, and Drogo picked him up with a wide grin. "Then we'll celebrate the whole week being parents again! Welcome to the family, little Gelin, my son!"

Harry couldn't believe it. _Gelin, now._ Someone not only wanted him, but was making it official! The last person to do that had been Ginny, and this was different. This was the family and the childhood he'd never had the chance to have, and as his new father tossed him about in celebration, he let his joy at the thought ring out in laughter.

Yes, he still missed his adult self's family. He was yet mourning his wife and sons, and couldn't help but think of the daughter whose fate he would never know. But though he would never forget that life or those people, he now had a second chance at a real life, and he vowed then and there, though silently by necessity, that he would not waste it.

Gelin never forgot who he was. From the moment of his new birth in the mud of the creek, he'd had a full memory of the thirty-one years of his first life, the life of Harry Potter, and he'd not forgotten it or a moment since as his now-childish mind developed. This made him a somewhat serious child, with the weight of so many years and battles in his memory, but it also made him appreciative and biddable. He was not bored easily, as a child of few years might be, finding his new world wondrous, and exploring it at every chance.

Nor was Gelin a man in a child's body. His youth allowed him distance from the horrors of Harry Potter's existence, keeping that life from being the torture it might have been, while giving him a unique perspective on life. Things which seemed ordinary to the Hobbits around him were surprising and delightful to the young-like human. Their traditions of giving instead of receiving birthday gifts, their intense love of food, and their readiness to throw a town-wide party were all so different and wonderful that the Hobbits found him a joy to be around.

Gelin loved to make things for people. He retained his love of cooking, and he tried to help Primula in the kitchen as often as she'd let him, once he was no longer too small to do so. For his fourth birthday, he gave everyone teacup-cakes with mint buttercream on top. For his fifth, he made toy figures of Hobbit children from river clay, and Drogo helped him bake them before he painted them, and these were the gifts he gave. His parents loved to help him learn new ways of making things, and lauded his artistic streak.

He and Frodo both tended to socialize with the same friends, not because there weren't plenty of children his own age, but because the brothers were practically joined at the hip and didn't want to play without each other. Their friends didn't mind that Gelin was so young because his size made up for it. He was also uncannily able to get them into and out of trouble without getting caught, which made him fun to be around.

He also retained from Harry his sense of justice. The one time Gelin ever got into a scuffle with any of the other children in Hobbiton was when he was five, and it was with a much older child, one who was as close to a bully as Hobbits ever really got. Robin Smallburrow had been picking on Frodo, who was a year younger than Robin, by using a small reed like a blowgun and shooting rocks at Frodo's ears. He was a decent shot, and the smaller boy's ears were bleeding.

Being just as big as Robin, Gelin struck him under the chin with a balled up fist. Robin would have come back at him, but Gelin said, "It doesn't feel so good to be on the other end of it, does it! Do it again, and you'll answer to me." Robin never once bothered the brothers again, nor acted the bully in their presence.

Gelin had not told his adoptive family about his previous life because he was afraid of how they'd react. He couldn't help but think of the Dursley family, and their utter disdain for Harry because he was different. But the part of him that was older and wiser knew that a time was coming when it would be unavoidable. He was already having accidental magic, and soon one of them was going to see it. Wouldn't it be better if they already knew? He was struggling with it, just too scared to lose his family yet again to say anything. Something would have to give, and soon.

Gandalf was coming for his seventh birthday party, and the news had spread through Hobbiton like a wildfire. The wizard was coming to visit the Baggins family, old and young, and to enjoy the celebration of the youngest's birthday. Frodo was beside himself with excitement, and regaled Gelin with tales of magnificent fireworks and storytelling. Frodo had never seen these things, mind, but Uncle Bilbo had, and it was all quite fascinating to the two children.

Frodo and Gelin met Gandalf as he came near to the Bywater Bridge, spotting his wagon on the road and cheering. The Istari grinned under his pointy hat, and welcomed the youngsters up into the wagon. "Now, don't touch the fireworks, lads. They've got a bite for the unwary." Keeping his attention on the mule who pulled the wagon, Gandalf said, "Now, as it's your birthday, Gelin, why don't you come up here and sit next to me, hmm?"

He was quite excited by this, never having met one of the wizards of this world, and climbed right up. He looked up into the face of the wizard. It was a kind face, but one which had seen many troubles, and which might see many more. "Well, you're certainly a tall one, aren't you! If I didn't know you were a man-child and not a Hobbit, I would think you were twelve or thirteen."

Not sure how to answer that, and struck by how much he reminded him of Albus Dumbledore Gelin said, "Yes, sir?"

Then the wizard looked at him, almost looking _through_ him. In fact, he'd almost say it had been a Legilimensy scan, but it felt different. Gandalf had not looked at his mind, but at his magic. He blinked. "Goodness, but you are a mystery."

Gelin smiled nervously, knowing there would be a long conversation in his and Gandalf's near future since he'd found out about the boy's ability. "Maybe where I come from is a mystery, but I'm not. I'm just Gelin."

Gandalf snorted at that. "No one is just anything. Every thinking being has the potential for good and evil. It's the choices we make that define us."

Gelin nodded, his smile gone and replaced by solemn knowledge. "Yes. And I choose to be just Gelin. I think he's a pretty good kid. And when the time comes, he'll be a decent man. But that is in the future, and for now being Gelin is enough."

Gandalf looked at him. "There's a story in that."

"One that can wait until after the party?"

Gandalf chuckled at him. "Very well. All right there, Frodo?"

The young Hobbit jumped, realizing he'd been caught eavesdropping. Gelin giggled at him, his good humor restored.

The party was wonderful. The fireworks reminded Gelin of Fred and George Weasley, being magical explosions resembling fanciful creatures, and even a dragon. Gelin gave presents to every child in the Shire, and most he'd made himself, wooden toys he'd carved with the pocket knife Frodo had given him on his own birthday. He even gave one to Gandalf, because, he said, "An old man is just a child in reverse." Of course, he'd also given one to his father and Uncle Bilbo, and they all laughed heartily at Gelin's joke on them.

Gandalf made no mention of Gelin's mystery during the party, nor did Frodo, everyone favoring fun over furor. But when the fireworks and gifts were all done, the food eaten, and the guests gone home, Gandalf asked Drogo if he could visit them at home, along with Uncle Bilbo. Drogo accepted. Frodo looked at Gelin, who nodded. It was time to reveal his secrets to his family. He only hoped they remained his family after they found out what he was.

Drogo and Primula sat on their couch, Bilbo and the two boys on chairs liberated from the dining room and Gandalf on the smaller couch that was just right as a chair for him. He began by saying, "I've noticed something out of order with young Gelin, something I truly did not expect. The boy has an inborn ability to use magic."

The Hobbits all looked at the human child in surprise, but with none of the mistrust that Gelin was afraid he would see. He hoped it would stay that way, but knew he had to tell his whole story now. He took a deep breath and waded in. "This is not the first time I have lived, Gray Pilgrim. I don't know how it was done, or why, but after my death, I woke in the mud of the creek, just where Frodo found me. In my first life, I was called a wizard, but let me be clear; I was not and am not Istari. Call me a witch-man. warlock! My magic is different from your own, tied to the earth, and I cannot yet use it much. I've noticed a few things, started having accidental magic, but it will be a few more years before I can really control it.

"In that life, I was born Harry James Potter. My father was James Charlus Potter and my mother was Lily Evans-Potter. For a year and three months they raised me and gave me love, but they were betrayed and killed. The man who killed them tried to kill me, but failed, and was turned into a mere shadow, but that would not be the end of him. I was sent to live with my mother's sister, who despised magic and all things unusual. She and her husband hid what I was from me, and I didn't find out until my eleventh birthday.

"From that tender age until I was nearly eighteen, I fought the man who killed my parents, his shadow, his agents and himself. When I killed him, that was supposed to be the end of it."

Gandalf looked sadly upon the boy in front of him. "It's never so easy, is it?"

"No. His agents hung on, and for the next thirteen years I fought them. I was in a war gone cold, until finally someone came after me directly and stopped killing the people around me. They had killed my wife and my sons. My daughter was lying in a hospital bed, barely clinging to life. And I was gutted by a cutting hex, lying on the ground with my insides beside me. My time piece was set to make a sound at midnight, and it was at midnight that I became thirty-one years old. In a fit of gallows humor, I made a birthday wish, and then I died.

"I woke in the creek mud, a newborn of the earth. I remember my old life, but I have not been Harry Potter these seven years. I am a child again, and I have been at peace. You have all been my family, and I cannot help but be grateful. I never had a real family before this. When Gandalf looked at me so closely, I knew that I needed to tell you all the truth, but do not think that my past life negates what you have done for me in this one. Harry Potter never had a real childhood, and he was never allowed to be just Harry. He was the Savior, the Enemy or the Blessed Warrior, expected to be great because of something his mother had done to protect him. That is what you have given me. Here, I'm just Gelin, a seven-year-old boy who happens to be a warlock, too."

Drogo spoke before Gandalf had a chance to. "Why didn't you tell us any of this before now?" He sounded hurt and confused, but he didn't sound betrayed or angry, and Gelin took that to be a good sign.

"At first, I was just a baby. I couldn't have told you anything until I could form complete sentences, and by then I was so happy that I didn't want to ruin it. For me, your knowing will change nothing. You are my father and mother. Frodo is my brother. Bilbo is my uncle, and a far better one than I've had before. In that other life, that other world, people always judged me for being Harry Potter. I was really hoping that wouldn't happen here."

Before anyone else could say anything, Primula stood and walked over to Gelin, kneeling beside him. "You are my son, Gelin. I did not bear you, but you are mine, and nothing you are can change that. I love you and Frodo alike."

With tears in his eyes, Gelin said, "I love you too, Mum," and he stood to hug her. The others joined in their embrace, Frodo promising that he didn't think any worse of Gelin, and all the others agreeing.

The emotional moment past, Gandalf said, "I didn't mean to cause you any worry, young warlock. I expected to help you in solving a mystery. You see, the wizards of this world were sent by the Valar. None of us has ever been a child, and so you were an anomaly, and possibly one who would need a great deal of guidance in the use of your gift. I was also afraid that you might be used by the shadows in the future if you weren't given careful steering. But I see that this will not be necessary. I will, however, offer my assistance. If at any time in the future you need advice or help in using your gift, I will come to your aid without hesitation."

Gelin smiled at the older wizard. "When I turn eleven, I will begin making my wand. I'll need two things; a magical core and a length of holly, straight and supple. The holly tree should be easy enough to find, but I have no idea what magical substances are available in this world. If the core comes from a living creature, it should be freely given, not taken by force. I think it might take the four years between now and then to find something, so if you might be on the lookout during your travels?"

Gandalf nodded. "With pleasure."

The rest of the visit was spent with Gelin telling the family and their guest of the world he had left behind, from a cupboard under the stairs to a castle on the lake. He got no further than the view from the boats, though, before Primula decided that little boys had been up long enough. She sent them to bed, and Gelin promised to tell them the rest over the next few days.


	2. Growth

Growth

Their family was happy for the next two years. Gelin's accidental magic didn't get too out of hand because he was happy and healthy, with no threats to use his magic against. He did manage to knock himself into the creak one morning, and automatically cast a Bubblehead Charm, but the bubble covered his whole body, and it took him three hours to get out of the creek. But that was really the worst of it. Both he and Frodo did well with their lessons, and all seemed right in the world.

But then their world broke apart.

It was a sunny day in May; Frodo and Gelin were playing on the hills over their Hobbit hole while Old Gamgee supervised from the garden. Their parents were off for a romantic picnic, including a boating excursion, and they wouldn't be back until the next day. Gelin was showing Frodo how he carved a toy rabbit from a small log of maple, when Uncle Bilbo came up the hill.

Frodo knew something was wrong, because he had been crying. But Gelin recognized the look on his face, having much more familiarity with it. It was the look of someone who had to inform a child that their parents weren't coming home. He'd worn that look himself. His eyes welled up, and he yelled, "No! You're wrong! They're just lost or something!"

"What's going on?" said Frodo, his eyes gone wide with fear.

Bilbo took a shuddering breath, and said, "Your parents-there was an accident with their boat. They-I saw them myself, Gelin. I wish I could tell you boys something different."

Soon, the brothers were a quivering ball of tears as they clung to each other for support. Bilbo embraced them as well, trying to support the boys through this initial shock. Soon, though, Gelin's magic reacted to his state of mind. The carving in his hand was green wood, and it started sprouting branches. Realizing he couldn't stop it, he broke away from everyone and ran, trying to find a place to put it.

 _There!_ Just down the road from Bag End, which was Uncle Bilbo's Hobbit hole, there was a bare spot where three roads crossed each other, a triangle in between all the roads where nearly nothing grew. He set the newly-growing tree down, and it began thrusting its roots into the earth. Gelin knew what the tree was doing, and he let an image sit in the front of his mind while the spell drained off all his excess magical energy. When it was done, Gelin was completely exhausted, both physically and magically, and he passed out.

Bilbo and Frodo found him there at the base of the new tree, unconscious. It had grown thirty feet tall, with wide, comforting branches, and it had grown as if carved into a sculpture of their family. Frodo and Gelin were in front, with Drogo and Primula standing behind them, each with an arm around the other. It had limbs perfect for climbing, and there was a good place for a tree house to be built as well. It was beautiful.

Frodo touched the sculpture. The new maple tree was a living memorial, and the faces were so real! Fresh tears gathered in his eyes, and he looked down at his brother's still form. They were the same size right now, even though Gelin would soon get much bigger. And their parents wouldn't be there to see it. With a very shaky breath, Frodo sat down next to him, and Bilbo pulled him up into his lap.

They just sat that way for a while. Then Bilbo started talking. "You know, it's easy to forget how young Gelin really is. He has all this history behind him, and the power to make things like this happen, and he's so big for his age because he's a child of men and not a Hobbit. But he's still just a boy, three years younger than you, and losing your parents is hard, no matter what age you are. He's really going to need your help, even if he tries to focus on helping you."

Frodo nodded. "I won't forget, Uncle. He's my little brother, and he'll always be my little brother, no matter how big he gets."

Soon they were taken to Primula's relatives in Buckland, and Gelin was understandably wary of them at first. After all, he'd not been lucky with relatives in his first life, and it was hard to withhold judgment when you were grieving. This was made worse by his lack of control over his accidental magic, and he and Frodo had a time trying to keep his talents secret from said relatives. But they both agreed it was best not to allow knowledge of Gelin's abilities to spread, and so did their utmost to hide them from the rest of the world.

Eventually, as Gelin's emotions leveled out, holding on to his magic came easier, and Gandalf started bringing him possible wand cores. At first, he brought various stones, but none sang to him. Then he tried feathers, since Harry Potter's wand'd had a feather core, but even the feather of a Great Eagle did not work. Leaves of the Malorne trees and tail hairs from Mearas were close, and he could have made a wand from them, but they weren't quite right, and he didn't want a wand that wasn't perfect for him. Finally Gandalf brought him three hairs given by Lord Elrond of Rivendell, and when they fell into his hand, Gelin knew he had his wand core.

On his eleventh birthday, he asked Frodo to follow him into the woods around Buckland, and they found a holly tree. "What are we doing, Gelin?"

"I'm building a wand. Once I get it done, I'll have a focus, and I won't be accidentally turning anyone else's hair green."

Frodo grinned. That day had been fun. When Frodo had woken with green hair that morn, they had raced to the river's edge and started a mud fight, covering themselves in muck to hide the color and making it look like a natural children's game. Eventually the green had faded, but they'd kept throwing mud just for the fun of it. Kurbity Ashwod had come to see what they were up to and ended up getting a face full of it, then joining them in making more of a mess. Their guardians tried to look stern, but not a one of them wasn't secretly grinning when they thought no one was looking at the sight of the three boys covered in mud.

Gelin took a fairly straight branch off the tree, and with Frodo's help, he braided the elf hairs together into a thin, strong cord. Then he wound that cord around the branch, spiraling from the thin end to the end that had been attached to the tree.

Frodo said, "Now what?"

But rather than answering him, Gelin started pouring his magic into the nascent wand, and it responded, glowing as the hairs sunk into the wood. Then the wood began to take shape, the grip carved in intricate knot designs, and the shaft long and straight. Though he had never learned the language, in that moment, steeped in the magic of making, he said, _"Hendgelin, galad o Arda, lûthadan_ The words sank into the shaft as Elvish runes, and upon completion, the wand emitted red and gold sparks into the air, choosing its maker to wield it.

The light faded and Gelin staggered. Frodo grabbed him to keep him from falling. "Is there ever going to come a time when working great magic doesn't cause you to nearly pass out?"

Gelin grinned at him as he helped him to his bed. "Yeah. Now that I have a proper wand, I'll be able to control my magic a lot better. I'll have to thank Lord Elrond some day."

"You think you'll really go to visit the elves?"

"Someday, I think we both will." A tremor of prescience shimmered down his spine. Someone had once told him that divination seemed very woolly, but the truth of the matter was he'd always had a talent for it, and Gandalf had mentioned that Lord Elrond had the sight. The feel of a coming storm had been pestering him for years, but the moment he'd finished his wand that feeling had intensified. But at the same time, it was more focused, and he knew that there was time. He would be a man when the storm broke, and he would be a warlock at full power.

"Gelin?"

Frodo was looking at him with concern, and he realized he had gotten lost in that feeling of the future. He let it fade away and grinned. "Come on. It's my birthday, and I want to make it a special one."

Every child who came to Gelin's birthday party got a carved toy, just as always, but this time the carvings were of special beauty and intricacy. He had found in himself an artistic bent, and a talent for transfiguration that meshed with that creativity beautifully. They were still toys, but they were also art.

Gelin began to practice his craft in earnest the next day. He and Frodo went into the forest and began building a workshop of sorts. To the ignorant eye, it looked like a play house built by two young boys, but inside it began to take on a different shape as time passed by. They put in two desks with comfortable chairs and Gelin began to write down his knowledge, writing it in English so that it would be illegible to anyone he had yet encountered. Hobbits spoke a language called Westron, and according to Uncle Bilbo, it was the most common language among the younger races, so common it was a trade language over most of the continent. Writing in English would protect the knowledge from ill hands.

Nor was writing the only thing he did. He began learning his spells again, beginning from the beginning once again and learning how things were different on Arda now that he could more accurately sense and control his magic. He also learned his lessons with Frodo, and from Master Brandybuck he learned how to hunt and fish. He had become that one thing that Harry Potter had never been allowed to become: a well-rounded person.

He had even decided on a career, choosing to become an artisan. On his twelfth birthday, he presented himself to Matin Took, a local carpenter, and asked to learn the craft of making furniture. It proved to be a fine skill for Gelin, one he excelled in and enjoyed. It wasn't but a couple of years, and he had made his first sale, a beautiful chair that was carved with an intricate leafy vine so that the chair almost looked as though it had been grown. The feet of the chair even had roots, because he had, indeed, grown the chair from four acorns that he magically sprouted and caused to twist into their final design.

Gelin tried to forget that feeling of future unrest. It was a long way off, perhaps coming only when he was an old man. But he knew, deep down, that no matter when it came, that storm was going to envelope him. It was very hard to imagine this peaceful world embroiled in that kind of conflict, the kind that had killed Harry Potter and his family. But every time he thought about it, Gelin turned toward the east, and he knew that it was Mordor that was triggering his gift. He just had to make sure that he was ready when the storm broke.

Frodo was twenty-one years old when Bilbo came and declared him to be his official heir, partly because he thought Frodo would do well with him and partly to keep the Sackville Bagginses away from Bag End.

"Gelin, what's wrong?"

Gelin sighed and looked down at his brother. "Frodo, I can't come with you. I think the time has come for me to leave the Shire, strike out on my own a bit."

Frodo wanted to be shocked at this, but truthfully he had seen it coming. "Why aren't you content with us? I know something has been bothering for years, but you'll never tell me what it is."

"Did you know that men younger than I are considered soldiers? That in Gondor they stand on the lines against the darkness awakening in the east? And I have yet to leave the boundaries of this, my childhood home. For all that I love them, and that you are my family, I am not a Hobbit. It's time I made my own living, seek out others of the race of men. Perhaps even time to start a family of my own if I can find a woman willing to have me."

Frodo smiled a little. "I doubt you'll have problems making a living with your skills in wood, nor with finding a lady for a wife." His face clouded again. "But this darkness in the east? Why is that any of your concern? Surely you're not going off to fight for Gondor?"

"No. But one day the darkness will come against us, and when it does, it should meet a man, an Istaradan, and not a coddled child." He looked Frodo in the eye. "Make no mistake, my brother. We will both of us be involved in the next fight against the darkness."

Gelin left with enough money in his pocket to buy a piece of land and make his start and enough food to last him several weeks if he ate like a man and not a Hobbit, which he had every intention of doing. He wasn't fat around the middle like most Hobbits were, because he'd always kept his portions small, but he was going to switch to a more normal three squares per day, once he'd gotten his house built.

The first place he went was Bree, and there he put up notices of his intent to buy. He had an answer within a day, and the plot was perfect, with a nice open meadow to build the house, and woods surrounding it to provide him game, wood and privacy. Getting out among folk of his own race again was going to be an adjustment, as he'd been the tallest person around for a long time, and now he was just a little south of average. He was just glad that he hadn't needed glasses in this new world, because they hadn't been invented yet.

He built the house first, using magically grown trees and plants. It took a week, but it was the middle of summer and quite warm at night. He put the house on the higher side of the meadow to keep it from being flooded, and with the sand from the river he insulated the walls, causing little glass bubbles to form throughout the sand, bubbles that were full of air. The branches that formed the walls were tightly woven, preventing chill winds from getting into the house. It could have been done without magic, because none of the materials were magical. Even the glass bubbles could have been made by a skilled glass smith. But with magic it went up quickly, easily, and with a natural look that was maintained because the trees were still living. His house was covered in leaves on the outside, save for around the port-hole windows that he'd also made from the river sand.

The next two weeks he concentrated on getting the initial stock for his business made. He did one complete dining set, several other chairs and small tables, and twenty or so woven baskets. Then he made several different kinds of toys and a hundred sets of wooden dishes. Finally he built a cart to ply his trade from and hitched his horse, Tirade, to the front of it. Then it was time for him to go back into town and sell his work.

Gelin had raised Tirade from a colt, a gift from Rorimac Brandybuck. He was a horse, not a pony, and that made him too tall for anyone but Gelin to ride, and he was strong and well able to pull the cart that he'd been trained with. He was also a show-off.

Gelin had been set up for about a week, and he'd made a decent amount of money in that time. Crops had been good, and folks had a little extra to spend on this or that. The Prefect of Bree, Bearheart Redwait, had bought the dining set, and three other men had commissioned others to be made. One of those men was Garith Bramble, and his daughter Laniah was entranced by the simple, but elegant, toys, in particular was a horse and rider with legs that moved in a realistic way. She was average in height, but quite lovely with her honey-gold hair and green-flecked blue eyes.

Tirade saw her playing with the toy, and decided that if she was going to play with a horse, it should be him, so he stuck his muzzle in her hair and licked her. She squealed. "Tirade!" Gelin shouted, turning red with embarrassment at his friend's misbehavior. "I am so sorry, Miss Bramble!"

She giggled at him. "It's all right. I guess he just wanted some attention." She petted Tirade's nose and he wuffled in pleasure. "You know, these really are quite good," she said, referring to the toys. "Your own children will be quite spoiled, I imagine."

He smiled at her, recognizing the fishing for what it was. "If I'm ever lucky enough to find a lady who'd be willing to put up with me and give me children, it is I who would be spoiled." He announced himself single and available in a single sentence, and still managed to make it sound casual.

At the end of the day, Gelin had been propositioned by no less than ten different young women, but none of their fathers were yet ready to see them marry him. He was quite young, and just starting out. He would have to prove himself able to take care of their daughters, and able to pay a bride's price. Besides, he had no intention of marrying anyone he wasn't in love with, and he'd need to get to know them before that could happen.

Still, Laniah was definitely someone he wanted to get to know.

When he packed up his cart at the end of that day, it was empty, and his purse was quite full. It was a good start. He bought grain for Tirade and food for his own larder, as well as a good number of metal parts for various pieces of furniture, such as locks for chests and pulls for drawers. He also bought his dinner and a pint at the Prancing Pony, and rented a room for the night. The owner of the bar, Barliman Butterbur, gave him another commission while he was there for two rooms full of Hobbit-sized furniture; nothing fancy, but what would take a lot of wear. The last ones he'd bought had barely lasted a year before they broke. "I can't afford to replace them all yet, but I can replace them as they break."

As he left for home the next morning, he was feeling quite good about his prospects. If his thoughts rested a bit too long on the face of Laniah Bramble, who could blame him?

Over the next two years, Gelin filled his orders in Bree with the most enjoyment. He sold his wares in many of the towns of Breeland and the Shire, and he built up quite a little nest egg, but it was a bit of a lonely existence, save for those times when he either visited his brother in Hobbiton or was doing business in Bree, where he could see Laniah. He told her stories, and he listened to her talk about her life and her dreams. They went on walks together, sat by the well and talked for hours, even went fishing together once. They were careful to let people know where they were going and what they were doing, lest vicious rumors get started, but it soon became apparent that they were smitten with each other, and bets were taken as to when Garith would be announcing their wedding.

In the winter of his twentieth year, Gelin asked Garith for her hand. They agreed on a bride price, and Gelin made the transaction contingent upon Laniah's acceptance of his proposal. It wasn't a requirement, either by law or convention, in this society, but it was in the Shire, and in the world of his first life, so he would never take a bride without her informed consent. He needed to show her his magic.

He took her to their favorite picnic spot, and after they'd eaten lunch, he said, "I want to tell you a story that only my Hobbit family and their good friend Gandalf know. You must keep it secret if I tell you, because people would be afraid of me if they knew. It is the story of my birth, and of what came before it."

"Why would people fear you for that?"

"Because the race of men fear what they do not understand, and what they fear they will try to destroy. I want you to know me fully, to tell you so that you will understand, because I'd like to keep you in my life, and it isn't fair of me to hold on to you without being completely honest." He took a deep breath, and watching her face to gauge her emotions, he said, "Frodo found me in the mud of the creek where he and Father were fishing-well, Father was fishing. Frodo was playing. Anyway, I was far more aware at that moment than they could have guessed, because I had been born of the earth itself into this new life from another that I had already lived. I don't know how it happened, or why. When I closed my eyes, I had expected to die, not to be born.

"I was called Harry Potter then, and I'd been fighting a war all my life, a war between wizards. Now we in that world were not wizards as Gandalf is, but men and women with an ability to use magic that was inborn, witchmen. Before I was born in that world, a prophesy was made that I would defeat an evil warlock, and he tried to kill me when I was yet a babe. My mother gave her life to weave a spell of protection that was suffused with her love for me, and it prevented him killing me, weakened him to the point of death. But he escaped, and eventually came back to try again.

"The war he caused lasted many years past the time when I finally killed him, and his followers had killed my wife and sons. My daughter lay in a hospital, and I don't know if she survived. I only know that they killed me, but I woke to see mud and a tiny three-year-old boy bouncing around in excitement."

Laniah sat thinking for a moment. Then she said, "It must have been horrible to carry such memories as a boy."

"It would have been if not for my family. I was too busy being Gelin to worry overmuch about Harry Potter. I regret that I was not able to save my wife and children, and I wish that I knew what happened to Lily. But my childhood didn't suffer for it thanks to Father and Mother and Frodo. Rorimac Brandybuck, too."

"And can you use that magic still?"

In answer, he took out his wand. "This is my wand. It's a tool I use to focus my magic and make it do what I want it to." He held up a twig from an oak tree and tapped it with his wand, whispering, " _Transmorpho_." The twig obediently twisted itself into a spiral. "The magic makes it possible, but the images come from my own mind."

She looked at the little twig. "You could do anything you wanted, have any woman in the world. You could serve kings or rule men." She then looked him in the eye, searching for something. "Why aren't you?"

He shrugged. "I'm a simple man and enjoy simple pleasures. I haven't forgotten the lessons I learned as Harry Potter, and I know that power is not a route to happiness. I will use it to defend myself and those I care for, and to make life easier, but it isn't something I crave, nor is it something I fear. Besides, if there is one thing I have learned repeatedly over the years, it is that love is a power far greater than the greatest sorcery. As for women, can you keep this secret from all and sundry?"

She smiled at him. "Of course. I'm honored that you would share this with me. As you have trusted me, I will trust you, and I will keep your secret."

He pulled out a small cabochon emerald and a gold coin, swallowing nervously. "The Prefect paid me in part with this stone for the furniture he bought from me on the day we met." He tapped the coin with his wand and directed the magic to shaping the gold into a ring of intricate braided vines and leaves. He set the stone in the center, and the leaves clamped down over the top of it, one on the top and one on the bottom, holding it in place. He didn't tell her that the stone was imbued with protective magic, charms that would protect her from wild animals, arrows or blades. If she wore it, that is. "Laniah Bramble, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Laniah stared at the new ring for a moment, then blinked and looked up at Gelin. "Oh, yes!" She hugged him enthusiastically. "I wondered what you were talking to Papa about yesterday. Oh, Gelin! You've made me so happy!" And then she kissed him, chastely, but promiseful.

They were married in June in Buckland, surrounded by friends and family. Frodo stood with Gelin and Laniah's sister Weryn stood with her, and Garith knotted the cord around their joined hands. Gandalf and Bilbo were in attendance, along with all the Brandybucks and Tooks and Bagginses and Brambles who could fit in the town square. The wedding was in the Hobbit style, which meant that afterward, there was a feast to rival that of a king. There was also a big white cake, a request of Gelin's. Everyone who attended received a commemorative wooden cup with Gelin and Laniah's name and the date of the wedding carved into it. Laniah received her dowry from her mother, and Gelin gave her a saddle-broke filly to ride. She named her Temperance, a counterpoint to Gelin's own Tirade.

The filly quickly put the lie to that name by nipping Tirade on the rump when he wouldn't move quickly enough for her tastes, and Gelin started calling her Tantrum. It was with great joy, then, that they left for home in Breeland.

It surprised no one when Laniah Baggins bore a daughter little more than a year after she married Gelin. Marya, whose name was Elvish for "fawn" was a perfect little thing, and the spitting image of her father, inheriting Lily Potter's eyes from him. He absolutely doted on her, and on Laniah. And there being no such thing as birth control in this simpler time and place, it also surprised no one when Laniah was with child again as soon as Marya was weaned. Marya was soon joined by her brothers Helluin (Sirius) and Luinil (Regulus) and her sisters Sorni (eagle) and Narma (wolf).

Gelin was a prosperous man, and a very loving father and husband, and none could have faulted him. Child after child was born to them, and raised with love and magic. Each child knew not to reveal their abilities, but also not to fear either magic or physical differences. If he often had strange visitors, like Gandalf or various rangers of the North, it was shrugged off by the townsfolk, for as an important businessman, he was not a person they wanted to anger. He was a good man, and good for Bree's economy, as he started to build a reputation over the years and people came from other places to buy from him, even from as far as Gondor.

Gandalf had cheerfully introduced him to a man known locally as Strider, but who he named Aragorn, son of Arathorn. The ranger had glared at the wizard for revealing his status as heir to the throne of Gondor, but hadn't cursed him as they were in the presence of Laniah and the children. Gelin had presented both of his guests with new long-stemmed pipes, similar to the ones they already smoked, but with intricate little details made possible only by his ability with a wand.

He also confided in Gandalf his worries for the future, of the constant irritation against his senses that was coming out of the east. He warned him that he hadn't only seen a burning eye, which Gandalf told him was Sauron, but also a white hand in those visions, the nightmares that woke him out of the loving embrace of his Laniah. Gelin knew that this was the symbol of Gandalf's brother wizard, Saruman. Gandalf went quiet at this pronouncement.

Softly, Gelin asked him, "Are you planning to come to the birthday party in Hobbiton?" Coming up was a huge party, both for Frodo's majority, as he was to turn thirty-three, and for Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday. It was bound to be a celebration to remember, and Gandalf had been promising fireworks, ensuring it would be even more so. But this was big. The thought that Saruman had betrayed them? It was disaster, and Gandalf would need to look into it.

But Gandalf nodded. "I am. I can look after Saruman afterward. Your dreams are still from the future, so we have some time."

Gelin frowned. "Not a lot. But you're right. The party should be fine."

Gandalf changed the subject. "Marya will be needing to build a wand soon, yes?"

Gelin glanced at Aragorn, not used to speaking of magic around those who could not use it, but he knew the man to be trustworthy. "Soon, yes. She's showing an affiliation with cherry wood, and Eagle feather, I think. I still have the one Gwahir gifted me long ago."

Aragorn said, "I admit that I was quite surprised when Gandalf told me of a child of men able to use magic."

Gelin smiled at him. "Mine is a strange tale all around, Haranion [son of kings]. But I will tell it to you so long as you vow to keep it secret."

Gelin and his family had a blast at Bilbo and Frodo's party. Helluin and Luinil were running around with the Hobbit boys while Marya, Sorni and Narma braided hair with the little Hobbit girls and showed them their wooden dress-up dolls. Gelin was actually quite proud of those dolls. Their hair was made of flax fibers that were actually sewn through the wood of the hollow heads and was thick enough for the girls to braid and comb. Laniah loved making clothes for the little dolls, and loved showing the girls how to make them. And of course everyone enjoyed Gandalf's fireworks! As usual, they made Gelin think of Fred and George Weasley, but it was with fondness, not pain.

Then Bilbo pulled his stunt, disappearing into thin air, and Gelin felt his spine freeze. He turned to Laniah. "Watch the children. I'm going to Bag End. My uncle has questions to answer."

She nodded and kissed his cheek before he turned and left her there. He and Frodo arrived at about the same time, in time to see Bilbo sneaking out in the darkness.

Frodo and Gelin looked at one another, then continued on into the house. "He's been talking of leaving for quite some time." They saw Gandalf kneeling next to the fireplace. On the floor behind him was a plain gold ring.

Gelin shivered to look at it. Uncle Bilbo's ring, the one he'd asked about as a child, before his magical senses had quite woken up. There was a gentle pull, a whisper in the ear, coming from the thing, but though it tried to hide it the man knew instantly what a part of its nature was, and sensed that there was more to it than what he knew. There was only one thing it could be, but he was under the impression that it had been lost.

Gandalf suddenly looked at him, as if to tell him not to touch the ring. But he didn't have to be told.

Frodo picked it up off of the floor, looking at it with curiosity, and Gelin's heart sank as he felt it reach out for him, making a tiny connection. But despite his fears, it didn't attempt to take him over, content for the moment, it seemed, to be in his possession.

"Bilbo's ring," Gandalf said. "He's gone to live with the elves. He's left Bag end to you, Frodo, along with all his possessions." Gandalf held out a small envelope to Frodo, who dropped the ring into it. Gelin was saddened to see that it did not loose from him for his setting it aside. "The ring is yours now. Put it somewhere out of sight."

Gelin said, "You're leaving as well, then?"

Frodo was upset by this. "But you've only just arrived!"

"Yes, there are things I must do, things your brother is aware of. Things between wizards."

"I don't understand!" cried Frodo.

Gandalf shook his head, his expression far too worried for Gelin's comfort. "Neither do I. Keep it secret. Keep it safe." And with that, he was out the door.

Frodo rounded on Gelin, still a bit upset. "What's going on? What is that ring? It's got both you and Gandalf upset."

Gelin sighed and sat down on the Hobbit-sized sofa, which was perfect as a chair for him. "That's going to be a bit of a tale." He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and wrote out a note to Laniah, then tapped the note with his wand, casting a tiny enchantment on it, which caused it to fold itself into an origami bird and fly out of the window toward her. "Just letting my Laniah know where to find me when she's ready.

"All right, when Harry Potter was a young man, as you know, he had to deal with the dark warlock Voldemort who murdered his parents. That warlock had performed an act of magic most vile, requiring a murder to make it work every time it was done, and he did it six times. He chose, willingly, to sever his soul into seven pieces, and place those pieces into enchanted objects called Horcruxes. This made him effectively immortal, bound to the earth while part of him still lived. A more evil form of magic never existed on that world.

"Each piece of his soul could resurrect him, because it essentially _was_ him." Gelin sighed. "Then he came after the Potters. He killed James, then Lily, and finally tried to kill little Harry, but the spell bounced, due to the sacrifice that Lily made to protect her son. Harry was not killed, but the piece of Voldemort's soul had nowhere to go but him, and it lodged itself into the cut that the curse had made on his forehead.

"Here, in Arda, according to what history I've read, something similar happened. The Dark Lord Sauron forged a Ring, and into that Ring poured as much of himself as he could, using that Ring to amplify his own power, and to control the rings of power that had been given to the other races. He lost the war he started with it, but the Ring survived, slipping into the river to escape the human king who had won it.

"Because of my history, because of Harry Potter, I know what a Horcrux feels like, Frodo. He had to destroy himself or help to destroy every one of them, including the one inside himself. I know that Gandalf is researching it now, as well as dealing with something else he discovered. But he doesn't have the familiarity with the things that I do. All this time, there's been a Horcrux in this house." He shook his head. "It's been hiding, or I would have noticed it earlier."

Frodo was frightened now. "What do we do?"

"For now, nothing. As Gandalf said, keep it hidden and safe. But there will come a time when that is not enough. The enemy is not completely dead because of that thing. This is the cause of the menace I have always felt from the east, and things will start to move soon, as the elves count time. It will happen within my lifetime, not much more than a decade hence, if I'm reading things right."

"Then we wait?"

Gelin nodded. "We wait and we watch. The enemy is quiet, but do not think he is quiescent."

Three more children were born to Gelin and Laniah in the next five years, but he then started using contraceptive charms. He made a point of teaching Marya the Patronus Charm and as many defensive and offensive spells as he could, teaching Helluin and Luinil, as well. Sorni, Narma, Meril, Sarn and Lalaith, who were too young for the more offensive magics, he taught defense. He carved himself a broom, building it along the lines of the Firebolt line, and testing it to make sure that it met the promises of the original.

He warded his home property against detection by those who meant the family harm, and placed magical traps inside the wardstones in case anyone passed them. But he knew deep down, if the forces of the light lost the coming war against the dark, those wards would not hold against Sauron's might. He only hoped they held long enough for them to break the Great Eye against the stones of Barad-dûr. It would only matter if they succeeded.

Toward the beginning of Autumn of the year 3018, Gelin returned to Bag End, just for a visit. He noticed that, just as Bilbo hadn't aged much in the time he'd known him, Frodo's aging seemed to have slowed down considerably. It worried him, rightly assuming that it had something to do with the Ring, but he said nothing, knowing the foul thing was probably listening.

Frodo pulled Gelin into the kitchen, and they spoke in low voices. "Gandalf came in April and told me all there was to tell about this Ring. And we agreed I need to be getting it out of here. He believes that Sauron is looking for it again, that he has sent out his Black Riders to find it."

"That's why you've been making noises about moving to Crickhollow to all and sundry. They won't then wonder where you've gone."

He nodded. "I'm planning to leave on my birthday. Merry Brandybuck has helped me buy a small house in Buckland and I'll have my belongings sent there ahead of time, on the twentieth. Then I'll leave, heading eastward at first, just to keep from raising suspicion. Sam's coming with me, as well." He looked Gelin in the eye. "We're heading to Rivendell."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"Gelin!"

"Frodo! I am both your brother and a warlock. Do you really think I would let you go into danger like this without me?"

Frodo looked at his feet. "I would you were safe."

Gelin shook his head and clapped his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Safe doesn't exist whilst that Ring lives, brother. Laniah is aware of what's coming, what to do if I send her a message that I'm not coming home. This is that day."

Frodo sighed. "All right. I know there's no dissuading you, brother. I'm selling the hole to Lobelia, so be prepared for some unpleasantness."

"That woman! She puts me far too much in mind of Dolores Umbridge." Frodo grinned at the description, remembering Gelin's tales of Harry Potter's school years.

 _Note: Here's the translation for all the kids' names. Marya: Fawn. Helluin: Sirius. Luinil: Regulus. Sorni: Eagle. Narma: Wolf. Meril: Rose. Sarn: Stone (Peter). Lalaith: Laughter (Isaac). Sarn is not named for Peter Pettigrew, but for Simon bar Jonah, a righteous leader who got nicknamed Cephus or Peter by Jesus of Nazareth._


	3. Departing Company

Departing Company

The day of Frodo's birthday was a Thursday, and it was a lovely morning if one discounted the coming troubles. Merriadock Brandybuck, Peregrine Took and Fredegar Bolger, all young friends of Frodo's, and Samwise Gamgee had helped to pack and load Frodo's belongings onto a pair of covered carts which were now on their way to Crickhollow via the Brandywine Bridge. Frodo kept watching for Gandalf to arrive, but he never did, and that made both he and Gelin anxious.

After handing over the keys to Lobelia and running the spare down to Sam's Gaffer, they all had one last meal together at Bag End. As it became Lobelia's at midnight, they'd chosen that as the time they would be on their way.

All of them took a walk that night after eating, all prepared to walk to the east, and all with packs ready to go. They'd pile them all onto Gelin's big mare Tizzy, who was Tantrum and Tirade's daughter, and walk their way to Bree. Merry went on with the luggage cart to make sure it arrived well, but Pippin was coming with them round the back of the village and on to the Bucklebury ferry.

Gelin walked with Frodo, and they heard voices drifting on the wind. It was Sam's Gaffer and a voice they didn't recognize, one that was deep, reedy and unpleasant. The hairs on Gelin's neck and arms stood at attention. Gaffer's response was telling as to the questions. "No, Mr. Baggins has gone away. Went this morning, and my Sam went with him: anyway all his stuff went. Yes, sold out and gone, I tell'ee. Why? Why's none of my business, or yours. Where to? That ain't no secret. He's moved to Bucklebury or some such place, away down yonder. Yes it is-a tidy way. I've never been so far myself; they're queer folks in Buckland. No, I can't give no message. Good night to you!"

Quickly and quietly they moved to return to Bag End. Gelin said, "We aren't leaving a moment too soon. I've the urge to mount Tizzy with you and run us out of here, but that'll attract too much attention."

"I agree, on both counts."

And so they got Tizzy ready and were on their way beneath the starlight, a company of four in Sam, Gelin, Frodo and Pippin. They went quietly, and none noticed them, or even Tizzy, who despite the temper she had gained from her parents, knew better than they when and how to be silent. Gelin also cast a muffling charm on her hooves to help, at least until they were out of town. Hobbits are very good at being quiet when need be, and because of the gossip mongers if nothing else, they all felt the need to be. Gelin himself was quite well able to be silent a skill held over from his previous life.

Once out of the town they relaxed a bit, and they walked for three hours under the stars before sitting down for a frugal supper. Gelin, being used to more manish eating habits, had eaten plenty at dinner, and so did not partake of more than an apple and a cup of tea. Sam and Pippin were shocked, but Gelin just smiled indulgently. Frodo told them, "I've gotten used to his strange habits. He eats but three meals a day, and tells me most of the race of Men do likewise!"

Soon they went on again, reaching the road to the Bucklebury Ferry. But soon enough Pippin grew tired, and they decided to bed down for the night. They weren't in a hurry just yet, and Merry wasn't expecting them in Crickhollow for two days yet. Gelin sent his Patronus as a message to his family, to let them know that things had begun and he would not be returning. They built a small fire in the shelter of a felled fir tree and slipped off into sleep beneath its sprawling roots.

Gelin was far more used to camping in the wilds than any of the Hobbits, and by the time they woke he had the fire stoked, water collected, and breakfast ready. He decided to keep things as easy as he could for as long as he could, though he was under no illusion that it would last forever. But here, with their still being inside the Shire, there would be no problem of it.

Their way was easy, by Gelin's reckoning. The day was warm, and the road either gently rolled or wound from side to side. But Sam had never traveled this far from Hobbiton, and thing were new to him. Looking out over the Woody End, he wondered aloud, "Do Elves live in those woods?"

"Not that I ever heard," Pippin answered him.

Frodo, too, had been staring off into the wooded horizon, and suddenly he began to sing. "The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with weary feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say."

Gelin got caught up in the melody, which struck him as haunting and compelling, a whisper of a force moving the listener on, the near-silent pull of destiny, and it sent a shiver of prescience up his spine. He hated that feeling.

Soon that feeling bore out. He began to hear a horse's tread behind them. He did not shout, but told the Hobbits urgently, "Get off the road. Hide!" He pulled Tizzy off the road and into the long grass, casting on her a very mild compulsion to graze and a Notice-Me-Not Charm, making her as innocuous as he could. Then he joined Frodo in his hiding spot.

Round the corner came a black horse, no hobbit-pony but a full-sized horse, and on it sat a large man, who seemed to crouch in the saddle, wrapped in a great black cloak and hood, so that only his boots in the high stirrups showed below, his face shadowed and invisible. Fear oozed from the man in a malicious wave; not his own fear but a force to make others fear him. He sat still in the saddle, seeming to be listening for something.

Gelin watched Frodo intently, and rightly so, as soon he saw his hand reaching for the chain that hung from his neck, the chain he knew which held the Ring. He tapped on Frodo's hand. The Hobbit snapped his head around to look at him, eyes wide. Gelin shook his head pointing to the Ring, begging him silently not to touch it. Then the rider moved on, and they watched him go until he disappeared into the trees of the woods. Quietly, he said, "It wants you to wear it. Don't give in, or you will be lost!"

Frodo took a couple of deep breaths and nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, but be constantly vigilant. The Ring knows its fate if we have our way, even if we yet do not, and I doubt it likes it."

They came back up onto the road, quickly joined by Sam and Pippin. Both wanted to know what it was about the rider that had spooked Gelin so. "I dare not tell you yet. Too much is at stake. But from now on we stay off the roads."

Too long had Harry Potter felt the breath of the Enemy upon his neck for Gelin not to recognize the feeling. So familiar it was, in fact, that Mad-Eye Moody's old saw about constant vigilance had come out of his mouth. They were being hunted, and unless they were very careful indeed, the Enemy would find his prize! He would not be responsible for the return of another Dark Lord, especially one such as Sauron!

Pippin said, "What's going on, Frodo? Why are you being so furtive?"

"Because it was more than the busybodies in Hobbiton I was worried about."

"Pippin, it's not important right now who we're worried about, save that this black rider is likely a part of it," said Gelin.

"But-"

Gelin cut him off. "There are some things you'll be happier not knowing, my friend."

Petulantly, Pippin said, "Sam knows, though, doesn't he."

Sam said, "Aye, and I wish I didn't." He had overheard Frodo and Gelin speaking about the Ring and the reason for their journey, and to prevent loose lips, Gelin had demanded he come with them. Better with us, he'd said, than left behind and made to talk.

"All right, Frodo! You can keep your secret for now, if you want to be mysterious. In the meanwhile what do we do? I'd love a cuppa, but somehow I think we'd better get moving."

Frodo nodded. "Now that I agree with, and we should pick up the pace a bit. Buckland is still miles away."

The rest of the day's walking eased the tension a bit. They talked of adventures, namely Bilbo's, as field and wood passed them by on either side and day gave way to twilight and then to stars. Sam and Pippin soon let the thought of the black-cloaked rider slip into the backs of their minds, and though Gelin and Frodo did not, they relaxed as well.

As they reached the end of their day's journey, having gone much farther than they had supposed they would have, they began to sing a walking song, but one that promised supper and bed at the end of it.

"Upon the hearth the fire is red, Beneath the roof there is a bed; But not yet weary are our feet, Still round the corner we may meet

"A sudden tree or standing stone That none have seen but we alone. Tree and flower and leaf and grass, Let them pass! Let them pass!

"Hill and water under sky, Pass them by! Pass them by! Still round the corner there may wait A new road or a secret gate,

"And though we pass them by today, Tomorrow we may come this way And take the hidden paths that run Towards the Moon or to the Sun.

"Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe, Let them go! Let them go! Sand and stone and pool and dell, Fare you well! Fare you well!

"Home is behind, the world ahead, And there are many paths to tread Through shadows to the edge of night, Until the stars are all alight.

"Then world behind and home ahead, We'll wander back to home and bed. Mist and shadow, cloud and shade, Away shall fade! Away shall fade!

"Fire and lamp, and meat and bread, And then to bed! And then to bed!"

It was a song they all knew, for the all knew Bilbo, both his rhyming and his adventures. Tales of elves and orcs and spiders, of dwarves, men, and a dragon. The Battle of Five Armies.

Soon, though, they began to hear hoofbeats other than Tizzy's once again, and it sent them clambering into the bush again. This time Gelin made Tizzy to lie down in the grass with them, and the grass to close over her as a camouflage. The fear of the rider came to Frodo again, shaking him, but he did not try to put the Ring on his finger. Still, Gelin thought they were caught, and aimed his wand at the encroaching shadows, ready to defend his brother and friends. Plans streaked through his mind, most involving spurring Tizzy to greater speeds than she'd ever achieved with the Hobbits on her back and him defending the rear.

But thankfully those admitedly poor plans were not tested. The sound of clear voices raised in laughter and song came to all their ears, and the shadow halted its forward progress. The rider quickly remounted his shadowy steed and fairly melted into the shadows in the opposite direction. Gelin and Frodo breathed more easily then, looking at one another with relief.

The voices grew steadily in volume as those they belonged to came closer to the company, and proved to be a party of elves, which excited Sam a great deal. Gelin was just glad that they hadn't had to fight the rider. He was sure there would be plenty of fighting in this journey's future, but he wanted to delay it as much as possible. He was also relieved that the Tempter had once again failed to lure Frodo in. He was under no illusion that the thing would not try again.

The elves sang of the stars Gilthoniel and Elbereth, and it was an uplifting tune that lifted Gelin's spirits as sure as phoenix-song. When they reached them, their leader said, "Hail, Frodo! Hail Gelin! You two are out late!"

Gelin grinned at him. "Hail Gildor Inglorion. Such clear stars are friends to any traveler. And you're a sight for sore eyes, if I may say."

Sam's eyes bugged out at him. "You know them, Mr. Gelin?"

"This one, at any rate. I met him once when I was traveling with Gandalf."

"And how do they know me?" asked Frodo.

"Because, dear brother, Uncle Bilbo likes to tell tales, and unless I'm much mistaken, Gildor knows him fairly well."

Pippin finally emerged from his stupor at seeing the group of High Elves. "Oh Wise People, please tell us about the black riders!"

Gelin nodded. "Aye, that's a good idea."

Gildor frowned. "Why do you ask about black riders?"

Pippin explained, "Because two have overtaken us today, or else one has done so twice. One slipped away just as you approached us."

"You should join us at Woodhall tonight, then. It's still some miles, but you'll be safe for the night, and it'll shorten your journey for tomorrow."

"You know what they are, then," Gelin surmised.

"As do you, if I perceive your questioning correctly."

"Honestly, I'm hoping I'm wrong."

Gildor snorted at that. "Would that we were all wrong about this. But we should not speak of it out in the open."

So they traveled alongside the elves for a time, until they reached their house above Woodhall. Gelin called it a house, though the elves considered it a rough cabin. Gelin felt them key their guests into their wards so that none would be harmed by them, and then he could see the house.

Gelin saw to Tizzy's needs, hitching her to a tree outside, then went in to join everyone else at supper. The elves fed them well, and before long all of the Hobbits save Frodo, along with Gelin, were watching the insides of their eyelids. They stayed up talking with the elves, who warned them not to either stay or go back. They were being hunted by the agents of the Enemy. When Gildor refused to tell Frodo what they were, Gelin quietly said, "I realize that we are young to those who have such long lives as elves, but please do not mistake us for children. Knowing what is coming may make us afraid, but I guarantee that we fear the consequences of failure far more than the creatures hunting us." Then he turned to Frodo. "They are called the Nazgûl. Once, they were kings of men, but they were seduced by the false promises of the Enemy and ensnared by his sorcery. They belong to him, entirely, and will stop at nothing to see his Horcrux returned to him."

Gildor said, "I do not recognize that word."

"That's why I use it. Few enough do that I don't have to worry overmuch about what the wrong ears will hear, or mouths repeat. Not that I think the elves have such problems. It's just better to be cautious."

The elf nodded. "I'll not argue with that. Very well. Yes, the Nine are seeking you, so take a road they'll not expect."

Frodo said, "We mean to."

Before long, the brothers joined the other Hobbits in sleep, and by morning the elves had gone, though they left provisions for breakfast. Gelin wanted to start sleeping in a warded camp more often, as he'd slept quite well in the protected vale, the subtle thrum of the wards whispering to his senses in the night. But he'd hidden his magic from others for a very long time, and wasn't quite sure he wanted Sam, Merry and Pippin knowing that he was a warlock, all the while knowing that the time was coming when he'd have to use it openly.

In the morning, the elves had gone, but they had left provision for a fine breakfast, and the party left in good cheer. They traveled for the next few days in quiet peace, keeping to the fields and avoiding the roads. They had plenty of supplies for the journey and had no worries for leagues.

However, as they neared Bucklebury Ferry, they all grew quiet, even Pippin feeling the need for stealth. Sam was actually the first to see the shadow following them, and Frodo yelled for them all to run for it. Once they reached the Ferry, they'd be all right, but they'd have to be careful. The barge of the Ferry wasn't very big, and Tizzy was. Gelin could Apparate, but he didn't dare try to do so with Tizzy. She had far too much mass. If it came to it, he could swim alongside the Ferry. But the Hobbits could not.

Making a decision, he cast an elargement charm on the barge, increasing its width by two Hobbit feet. He hoped the others didn't notice since they were all looking over their shoulders as they ran. He didn't want to explain that very moment with the dark creature directly on their heels. He led Tizzy onto the barge, putting her directly in the middle of it. "Frodo, you get underneath Tiz. Sam and Pip, you stand on the sides. I'll take the water. Hurry!"

With that he jumped into the cold water, ignoring the chill as best he could, quickly swimming to the far side of the barge, where the rope led to the far side of the river. The Hobbits pulled on the rope and Gelin swam for his life. Just as they reached the far bank, they heard a frightening sound and Gelin could see the rider on the bank behind them.

Thankfully, though, the fell creature did not seem inclined to follow them into the water. In fact, it seemed frustrated that they'd made it into the water, making Gelin believe it had a problem with deep water. He'd have to remember that.

Gelin scrambled out of the river as quickly as he could, then led Tizzy off of the barge. The Hobbits came off right after, and they all ran as far down the road as they could, leaving it as soon as they had turned a good corner where they would not be visible from the Shire side of the river.

The river was cold, but not so cold as the feeling from the Nazgûl, the fear it secreted. Gelin wondered if a Patronus would have an effect upon them.

Finally they arrived in Crickhollow, and the house Frodo had purchased as a decoy. Gelin was glad to see it, for the dunking in the river had not been enough to wash the filth from him. There was a rush on the bath, of course, but Gelin was given first shot since he'd gotten that cold dunking, and it would be best if he weren't cold for long. Merry put on the tea and joked with the other Hobbits about their state of disarray, but they were too happy to have a warm house for the night to be upset about it.

Finally the companions, clean, fed and watered, and Tizzy the same, and they began to discuss their late journey. Frodo looked at them all as if it would be the last time he ever saw any of them, so it was no surprise when Merry came to the conclusion that he'd be leaving. "Aye, the both of you Bagginses, and Sam as well, plan to leave here ahead of whatever it is that's pursuing you. And why do they pursue you? Something to do with Bilbo's old treasure, perhaps?"

Wary of giving his friends too much information, Frodo said, "There is a connection with Bilbo's old adventures, and the Riders are searching for him, or for me. I'm not safe here, nor anywhere else, if I'm honest."

"And," Merry said, "you're trying to figure out how to say good-bye. You mean to leave the Shire, perhaps for good, and these Riders have pushed you into going sooner than you expected to. Gandalf was supposed to be helping you, but something seems to have detained him."

Gelin was impressed. "Well! Someone's been paying attention! The only question is, is the whole Shire going to be discussing this once we've gone?"

"Of course not! And don't think you two are escaping so easily!"

Frodo protested, "But I must go, and Gelin won't let me go alone. If I stay it will only mean disaster for everyone!"

"You don't understand," said Pippin. "You must go-and therefore, so must we. Sam is an excellent fellow and would jump down a dragon's throat to save you, if he did not trip over his own feet; and Gelin is your brother, and could put his carving knife in that dragon's eyes. I've seen him aim that knife more than once! But since I know what you carry, I think you need more than they two on your journey to aid you."

"You know? But how?"

"I've known for a while. I saw his disappearing act on his birthday, the day he left us himself. I was close when he took the Ring off and slid it into his pocket. And I confess, I literally spied on him. I had a quick glance at that book of his."

"The book!" Frodo exclaimed. "You read the book!"

"Not all of it, and it was difficult enough to get that glance. He never left it about. He'd just gone to the kitchen to fill his tea cup. My point is this. We're not letting you go without us. You need a couple of lads like us. And besides, Sam told us everything he knew!"

Gelin glared at Sam. "They warned me of what they knew," he protested, "and swore they were coming with us whether you two liked it or not. Better they go, I thought, knowing what they were getting into, than run afoul of something like those Black Riders and not know why!"

Frodo couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. "You're deceitful scoundrels, the lot of you! But bless you! I give in. If the danger were not so dark I would dance for joy at your joining us. I had truly dreaded leaving you all here."

Gelin rolled his eyes, but he, too, couldn't help but grin at the fools. "All right you lot, if you've been preparing this whole time to come with us, I don't suppose you've seen to our provisioning?"

"Enough to get us to Bree, for certain. We can trade in the town for provisions after that."

"And probably more sensibly than anything you've packed. All right. If we go to Bree, though, I'll be recognized instantly. My business is there, as is Laniah's family. But that also means that I will not be remarkable. I usually stay at the Prancing Pony when I'm in town overnight. You lads, all being out of the Shire, will be seen as unusual. You must take great care once we're there not to stick out too much, and not to mention who you are or why you are there." Gelin pinned the younger two with a glare. "That means not drinking more than one beer for you lads."

They grinned at him. Merry said, "When do you want us to head out?"

"Before first light," said Frodo, "if we can manage it. And we're not going by the road. We'll go straight East, into the Old Forest."

Gelin shook his head. "You sure know how to pick 'em. That road's an adventure all on it's own. I've heard things about that wood, and the hills beyond them; that the trees are awake, and that there are ill spirits that will kill the unwary to swell their ranks."

Merry agreed. "And I've heard plenty of that, as well. But it's not impenetrable, and I fancy we'd rather meet these spirits than the black riders."

Frodo said, "Absolutely correct, my friends. Now let's get the packing finished, and then off to bed. We've still got a long road ahead of us."

As the others bedded down for the night, Gelin sat on the sofa in front of the fire, which was the only seat large enough for him, and played a lonely sounding pipe, not unlike the one Hagrid had given Harry Potter for Christmas in his first year. It was comforting, and the others slept quickly, excepting Frodo, whose mind was being gently assaulted by the Ring.

He sighed, wishing that he thought the quest would end at Bree with Gandalf, or even with wherever they were going after meeting with him. But Harry knew that it wouldn't. There was too much at stake with that Ring, and from what Harry knew of it, there was only one place this quest could be ended, and nothing in the world would make it an easy journey.

Merry woke everyone at half past four in the morning, and the company were quickly on their way, the four Hobbits riding ponies, and Gelin on Tizzy leading a fifth pony carrying most of the baggage, though each Hobbit and Gelin all carried a bag, as well, and Gelin a tent of his own.

The mist fore and aft of them was of a cloying thickness, split only by the moon overhead, as they made their way toward the Hedge which bordered the Old Forest. Gelin could already sense the magic of the forest, and he did his best to exude an air of peace, to convince the trees that the company was neither harmful nor good for fertilizer. Merry led them to the gate that the Brandybucks had put into the Hedge, and they all went in. It clicked ominously shut behind them.

Gelin said, "All right. From here on, we will not light a fire or a torch, nor pick up a blade. We do not want these trees angry with us."

"But it's frightfully dark in here under the trees," said Pippin. "How will we see our way?"

"It's time you lot found out what I can do. I'm what's called a warlock, a human who can do magic." He pulled out his wand. "I'll make a light that will not alarm the trees."

"A warlock?" asked Sam.

Frodo said, "Brother, are you certain?"

Gelin answered by silently casting Lumos. The pale light was as gentle as moonlight, and just as welcome in the eldrich forest. "I don't use my power lightly, because I don't want it getting around that I have it. But I have many spells that I'll be able to use to help us along the way, and this spell is very small, so it won't attract the wrong kind of attention." He turned to Frodo. "If they're going to be with us on this quest, they need to know what I am. There will be many opportunities for us all to distrust one another. We must, now, remove as many reasons for that distrust as we possibly can. I will not hide myself like a thief from them."

Pippin said, "I didn't know anyone other than wizards and elves could use magic."

Gelin shrugged. "To my knowledge, I and my children are the only warlocks there are."

"Is there elf blood in you, then?" asked Merry.

"No. I'm fully of the race of men. But the whole story needs to wait until we are no longer beneath these trees. They're listening. I'll tell you the rest when we're safely beyond the Barrow Downs. That's a three-day walk, if the trees allow it."

As they walked through the wood, he was never so grateful that his powers in this Middle Earth were anchored in the earth. She was as much a mother to him as Primula Baggins, and she didn't want her children fighting, so the trees left him and his party alone. He still kept the party from using fire of any kind while they were in the forest. They sang songs and ate trail rations, keeping cold camps and always dunging at the base of a tree when they needed to dung. Gelin made sure Tizzy and the Hobbit ponies did, as well, and this kept the trees happy with them.

On the third morning, they gladly left the woods, but now they were in the Barrow Downs, and a fell place it was! The mists were cold and damp, and there was a feeling within them that was all too familiar to the human of the group. Dementors, or at least something of a kind to them. Gelin kept his wand at the ready, knowing that with the growing intensity of the cold on what ought to have been a warm day, they had to be close.

Soon, with horrid predictability, Gelin began hearing the voices of his family in the gloom, calling to him as if lost and frightened or injured. He heard the sound of Lily Potter defending her son from Voldemort, the sound of the blades that had ended Ginny, James and Albus's lives, and the crying of Lily Luna, left alone by the death of Harry Potter, all of them shadows in his mind, shadows of guilt and fear that the Barrow-wights could prey on. It were not very long, and they had fully distracted the party enough to separate them and bring their influence down upon every one. Gelin could see through it due to Harry Potter's experiences, but he followed the wights anyway, because they had his brother and their friends.

The barrow was lit with an eldritch green light, which emanated from the wights themselves. They were not dressed in spirit-like cloaks, but bared to the world, at least within the barrow, so that they appeared as ghosts of the men they had once been. And seeing the four Hobbits laying on a stone table with a longsword lain across their chests. And it was obvious that the wights meant him to join them, and for all to quickly lose their heads.

So Gelin drew his happiest memories, both of his current family and his former one, around him like a winter cloak, aimed his wand at the nearest foul spirit and shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

It was beyond shocking to these creatures. They had not taken his wand, not realizing he was a magic user, so he had the element of surprise, and honestly he had plenty of happy memories to draw on. The stag which emerged to scatter the barrow wights and the dense, sickening fog was far more powerful than any he'd ever brought forth before, a beacon of light and hope.

The Hobbits were nudged out of their stupors and quickly came to their feet. Gelin did not let Prongs fade away, but kept him interfering with the wights as they all made good their escape. Near by the ponies had all huddled together with Tizzy in the cold, so they had no need to go searching for them and all be lost again. "Get mounted, and get going!" he shouted at them. "Head north until we're out of the downs!"

They needed no further urging, and before long the sun was shining on them again, and Gelin could just barely see the hills give way to rolling plains. They rode on like that for a few more miles, just enjoying the sun after their near death by the cold hands of the dead. The warlock finally allowed Prongs to fade out, no longer fearing the dire shadows.

They stopped for a meal, and then they started walking again. Gelin sang a song from Harry Potter's world to intrigue the Hobbits, though Frodo had heard it before.

 _"Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again, Because a vision softly creeping, Left its seeds while I was sleeping, And the vision that was planted in my brain Still remains Within the sound of silence_

 _In restless dreams I walked alone Narrow streets of cobblestone, 'Neath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light That split the night And touched the sound of silence_

 _And in the naked light I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening, People writing songs that voices never share And no one dare Disturb the sound of silence_

 _'Fools' said I, 'You do not know Silence like a cancer grows Hear my words that I might teach you, Take my arms that I might reach you' But my words like silent raindrops fell, And echoed In the wells of silence_

 _And the people bowed and prayed To the neon God they made And the sign flashed its warning, In the words that it was forming And the sign said, 'The words of the prophets Are written on the subway walls And tenement halls' And whispered in the sounds of silence."_

"That's just depressing, that is," said Pippin.

Gelin grinned at him. "Maybe, but I like it."

They walked on from there until evening had passed and night descended, hardly daring to stop at all, until the signs of a town, the ever-twinkling of candles in windows and lamps on stands in the streets, appeared in the near distance. They had finally come to Bree, and hopefully, they'd be able to relax for a while.

Frodo looked at his brother. "Will Gandalf be waiting for us?"

Gelin shook his head. "I don't know. Something has happened to him for him to be as delayed as he has been. For now, let's get settled in for the night. We'll worry about Gandalf in the morning."

 _Note: Credit for "The Sound of Silence" to Simon and Garfunkle. And boy, that song got stuck in my head all day after I used it in that scene!_


	4. Aragorn

_Note: I want to thank you all for your patience with me, and I hope you will all enjoy this latest offering._

Aragorn

They were able to enter Bree without any trouble because Gelin did so much business in town, but not without notice. Knowing that, he had it in mind that they would make sure that they left in a direction that would not lead anyone to think he had taken the company home with him. He did not want the black riders thinking to go anywhere near his wife and children.

The gatekeeper let them without question, recognizing Gelin and knowing he had Hobbit kin. They went straight for the Prancing Pony, where they paid for a room with Hobbit-sized furniture. Gelin would just lay his bedroll out on the floor with cushioning charms. The owner/operator of the establishment was still Barliman Butterbur, and he had his Hobbit servants, Bob and Nob, put up their ponies and horse and settle their belongings in their room. He kept trying to remember something he'd been told, something their names had triggered in his mind, but he never did manage to remember it.

Nob soon came back with a mug of beer for each of them, Gelin's appropriately sized for a man, and plates of the house supper, then desert while they were still in the middle of their beers. Merry and Pippin were quite enthusiastic about all of it, though the rest of the party was still wary of both the room and their journey. "We should be careful, but it won't hurt to let them have a little fun. I somehow doubt there will be many opportunities for it down the road we're taking."

The Bree Hobbits wanted news, and both Frodo and Sam were willing to pass it on. Gelin kept his ears open and his beer shielded, not allowing it to be refilled. Talk around the room from the men and dwarves there was of trouble in the south, and of many from both races evacuating to escape it. While the Bree folk were sympathetic, they weren't of much of a mind to take such folk in when their own lands would suffer.

Suddenly Frodo noticed that a strange-looking weather-beaten man, sitting in the shadows near the wall, was also listening intently to the talk in the room. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long-stemmed pipe, the carving of which Frodo recognized easily as his brother's work. His boots were caked with mud, and the hood of his dark green and travel-stained cloak was pulled up over his head so as to shadow his face, his eyes occasionally glinting through that shadow. "Who is that?" he asked Gelin. "His pipe is of your craftsmanship."

Gelin turned a quick eye to the man, but didn't stare. "He's known as Strider around here, though he has many other names that follow him. He's a friend, introduced by the friend we're currently seeking." He meant Gandalf, and knew Frodo would understand. "They call him that because of the way he walks, which is never slowly as he's quite long of leg."

Noticing their looks, he beckoned that they should join him, so Gelin stood and gently pulled Frodo along as they went to speak with him. "Good eve, fellow travelers. What brings you into Bree?"

"We seek a mutual friend, to join him on his journey. But I fear we have missed him."

Strider nodded. "You have, by three days. I would continue on behind him, if I were you, and as quickly as possible."

Gelin said, "Best be on the morrow, then, as soon as we've provisioned. Our destination is at least a fortnight hence."

"I'd stop my young friends from being so free-tongued if I were you." Strider pointed at Pippin with the stem of his pipe. Sure enough the Took was recounting the story of Bilbo's birthday party, and while it was a simple and funny story, it would bring to mind a few things that would draw unwanted attention to them.

To Frodo, Gelin said, "I'll get them. Stay here. Then we'll off to bed. The lads don't need any more strong drink in them tonight, any way."

Frodo asked Strider, "What brings you to Bree, if it's not too private a tale?"

"It's not too private for you, master Hobbit, but it is too private for the room. Better that conversation be saved for later."

* * *

Later that evening, they had all retired to their appointed room, and they were met there by Strider. Gelin invited him in, then closed the door. "I noticed you following us, Strider, though I made no mention of it. I wonder if you know what it is you're wading through?"

"Some, though not all, I don't doubt. I know what's being carried, and by whom. I also know where you are going, and who seeks to stop you. Black horsemen have come through Bree of late, and it's set all the town on edge. They were not friendly, to put it mildly."

"Bree won't think our being here is strange," said Gelin, "but I'm counting on the gossips to let any questioners know we didn't head toward home."

Strider nodded. "A sound idea for the safety of your kin. But it'll mean they know where to go looking for you."

Gelin took a deep breath, then pierced the Ranger with a look. "You know what they are?" He nodded slowly. "Will you join our company, then? There's no doubt we may need a strong swordsman before we're much longer on the trail."

"You're no slouch with a blade, and you have other gifts, as well."

"And two swords are better than one, any day of the week."

Strider grinned at him. "Without doubt. All right, I'll accompany you to Rivendell. I planned to join you anyway. But we must be cautious. As you know, not everyone in Bree can be trusted. Bill Ferny, for instance. He has an evil name in the Bree-land, and queer folk call at his house. He would sell anything to anybody; or make mischief for amusement."

"Not to mention selling his own mother for a wooden cup. Aye."

Not much longer were they speaking of their plans on the road, when a knock came to the door. Gelin had his wand in hand, both hidden in his pocket, before he'd let Pippin open the door. It was Butterbur, the landlord. Strider withdrew into a dark corner.

"I've come to bid you good night," said the landlord, putting the candles on the table. "Nob! Take the water to the rooms!" He came in and shut the door.

"It's like this," he began, hesitating and looking troubled. "If I've done any harm, I'm sorry indeed. But one thing drives out another, as you'll admit; and I'm a busy man. But first one thing and then another this week have jogged my memory, as the saying goes; and not too late I hope. You see, I was asked to look out for hobbits of the Shire, and for one by the name of Baggins in particular."

"Asked by whom," Frodo said.

"Ah! That was Gandalf, if you know who I mean. A wizard they say he is, but he's a good friend of mine, whether or no. But now I don't know what he'll have to say to me, if I see him again: turn all my ale sour or me into a block of wood, I shouldn't wonder. He's a bit hasty. Still what's done can't be undone."

"Well, what have you done?" said Gelin, getting impatient with the slow unraveling of Butterbur's thoughts.

"Where was I?" said the landlord, pausing and snapping his fingers. "Ah, yes! Old Gandalf. Three months back he walked right into my room without a knock. Barley, he says, I'm off in the morning. Will you do something for me? You've only to name it, I said. I'm in a hurry, said he, and I've no time myself, but I want a message took to the Shire. Have you anyone you can send, and trust to go? I can find someone, I said, tomorrow, maybe, or the day after. Make it tomorrow, he says, and then he gave me a letter.

"It's addressed plain enough," said Mr. Butterbur, producing a letter from his pocket, and reading out the address slowly and proudly (he valued his reputation as an educated man):

MR FRODO BAGGINS, BAG END, HOBBITON IN THE SHIRE.

"A letter for me from Gandalf!" cried Frodo.

After finally getting the letter from the old fool and convincing him to leave, Frodo read the letter aloud, though softly.

 _THE PRANCING PONY, BREE. Midyear's Day, Shire Year, 1418._

 _Dear Frodo,_

 _Bad news has reached me here. I must go off at once. You had better leave Bag End soon, and get out of the Shire before the end of July at latest. I will return as soon as I can; and I will follow you, if I find that you are gone. Leave a message for me here, if you pass through Bree. You can trust the landlord (Butterbur). You may meet a friend of mine on the Road: a Man, lean, dark, tall, by some called Strider. He knows our business and will help you. Make for Rivendell. There I hope we may meet again. If I do not come, Elrond will advise you._

 _Yours in haste_

 _GANDALF._

 _PS. Do NOT use It, not for any reason whatever! Do not travel by night!_

 _PPS. Make sure that it is the real Strider. There are many strange men on the roads. His true name is Aragorn._

 _All that is gold does not glitter,_  
 _Not all those who wander are lost;_  
 _The old that is strong does not wither,_  
 _Deep roots are not reached by the frost._  
 _From the ashes a fire shall be woken,_  
 _A light from the shadows shall spring;_  
 _Renewed shall be blade that was broken,_  
 _The crownless again shall be king._

 _PPPS. I hope Butterbur sends this promptly. A worthy man, but his memory is like a lumber-roam: thing wanted always buried. If he forgets, I shall roast him._

 _Fare Well!_

Frodo looked at Strider, tense. "So how are we to tell that you are the real Strider?"

Gelin said, "Relax, brother. I would be able to tell if he were some other person or creature wearing a glamour. Gandalf saw to it that I could recognize his kind of magic on this world, as it differs so much from my own." He sat down on the edge.

"Well," said Strider, "with your permission we will call that settled. Strider shall be your guide. We shall have a rough road tomorrow. Even if we are allowed to leave Bree unhindered, we can hardly hope now to leave it unnoticed. But I shall try to get lost as soon as possible. I know one or two ways out of Bree-land other than the main road. If once we shake off the pursuit, I shall make for Weathertop."

"Weathertop?" said Sam. "What's that?"

"It is a hill, just to the north of the Road, about half way from here to Rivendell. It commands a wide view all round; and there we shall have a chance to look about us. Gandalf will make for that point, if he follows us. After Weathertop our journey will become more difficult, and we shall have to choose between various dangers."

"When did you last see Gandalf?" asked Frodo. "Do you know where he is, or what he is doing?"

Strider looked grave. "I do not know," he said. "I came west with him in the spring. I have often kept watch on the borders of the Shire in the last few years, when he was busy elsewhere. He seldom left it unguarded. We last met on the first of May: at Sarn Ford down the Brandywine. He told me that his business with you had gone well, and that you would be starting for Rivendell in the last week of September. As I knew he was at your side, I went away on a journey of my own. And that has proved ill; for plainly some news reached him, and I was not at hand to help.

"I am troubled, for the first time since I have known him. We should have had messages, even if he could not come himself. When I returned, many days ago, I heard the ill news. The tidings had gone far and wide that Gandalf was missing and the horsemen had been seen. It was the Elven-folk of Gildor that told me this; and later they told me that you had left your home; but there was no news of your leaving Buckland. I have been watching the East Road anxiously."

"Do you think the Black Riders have anything to do with it—with Gandalf's absence, I mean?" asked Frodo.

"I do not know of anything else that could have hindered him, except the Enemy himself," said Strider. "But do not give up hope! Gandalf is greater than you Shire-folk know—as a rule you can only see his jokes and toys. But this business of ours will be his greatest task.

Pippin yawned. "I am sorry," he said, "but I am dead tired. In spite of all the danger and worry I must go to bed, or sleep where I sit. Where is that silly fellow, Merry? It would be the last straw, if we had to go out in the dark to look for him."

At that moment they heard a door slam; then feet came running along the passage. Merry came in with a rush followed by Nob. He shut the door hastily, and leaned against it. He was out of breath. They stared at him in alarm for a moment before he gasped, "I have seen them, Frodo! I have seen them! Black Riders!"

"Black Riders!" cried Gelin. "Where?"

"Here. In the village."

"Damn it!"

"I stayed indoors for an hour. Then as you did not come back, I went out for a stroll. I had come back again and was standing just outside the light of the lamp looking at the stars. Suddenly I shivered and felt that something horrible was creeping near: there was a sort of deeper shade among the shadows across the road, just beyond the edge of the lamplight. It slid away at once into the dark without a sound. There was no horse."

"Which way did it go?" asked Strider, suddenly and sharply. Merry started, noticing the stranger for the first time.

"Go on!" said Frodo. "This is a friend of Gandalf's. I will explain later."

"It seemed to make off up the Road, eastward," continued Merry. "I tried to follow. Of course, it vanished almost at once; but I went round the corner and on as far as the last house on the Road."

Strider looked at Merry with wonder. "You have a stout heart," he said; "but it was foolish."

"I don't know," said Merry. "Neither brave nor silly, I think. I could hardly help myself. I seemed to be drawn somehow. Anyway, I went, and suddenly I heard voices by the hedge. One was muttering; and the other was whispering, or hissing. I couldn't hear a word that was said. I did not creep any closer, because I began to tremble all over. Then I felt terrified, and I turned back, and was just going to bolt home, when something came behind me and I—I fell over."

"I found him, sir," put in Nob. "Mr. Butterbur sent me out with a lantern. I went down to West-gate, and then back up towards South-gate. Just nigh Bill Ferny's house I thought I could see something in the Road. I couldn't swear to it, but it looked to me as if two men was stooping over something, lilting it. I gave a shout, but where I got up to the spot there was no signs of them, and only Mr. Brandybuck lying by the roadside. He seemed to be asleep. 'I thought I had fallen into deep water,' he says to me, when I shook him. Very queer he was, and as soon as I had roused him, he got up and ran back here like a hare."

"I am afraid that's true," said Merry, "though I don't know what I said. I had an ugly dream, which I can't remember. I went to pieces. I don't know what came over me."

"I do," said Strider. "The Black Breath. The Riders must have left their horses outside, and passed back through the South-gate in secret. They will know all the news now, for they have visited Bill Ferny; and probably that Southerner was a spy as well. Something may happen in the night, before we leave Bree."

"What will happen?" said Merry. "Will they attack the inn?"

"No, I think not," said Strider. "They are not all here yet. And in any case that is not their way. In dark and loneliness they are strongest; they will not openly attack a house where there are lights and many people—not until they are desperate, not while all the long leagues of Eriador still lie before us. But their power is in terror, and already some in Bree are in their clutch. They will drive these wretches to some evil work: Ferny, and some of the strangers, and, maybe, the gatekeeper too. They had words with Harry at West-gate on Monday. I was watching them. He was white and shaking when they left him."

"We seem to have enemies all round," said Frodo. "What are we to do?"

"Stay here, and do not go to your rooms! They are sure to have found out which those are. The hobbit-rooms have windows looking north and close to the ground. We will all remain together and bar this window and the door. But first Nob and I will fetch your luggage."

While Strider was gone, Frodo gave Merry a rapid account of all that had happened since supper. Merry was still reading and pondering Gandalf's letter when Strider and Nob returned.

"Well Masters," said Nob, "I've ruffled up the clothes and put in a bolster down the middle of each bed. And I made a nice imitation of your head with a brown woolen mat, Mr. Baggins, sir," he added with a grin.

Pippin laughed. "Very life-like!" he said. "But what will happen when they have penetrated the disguise?"

"We shall see," said Gelin. "Let us hope to hold the fort till morning."

'Good night to you,' said Nob, and went off to take his part in the watch on the doors.

Their bags and gear they piled on the parlor floor. They pushed a low chair against the door and shut the window. Peering out, Frodo saw that the night was still clear. The Sickle-shaped moon was swinging bright above the shoulders of Bree-hill. He then closed and barred the heavy inside shutters and drew the curtains together. Strider built up the fire and blew out all the candles.

The hobbits lay down on their blankets with their feet towards the hearth; but Strider settled himself in the chair against the door. Gelin laid a hand on his shoulder. "Wake me for the second watch." Then he took the second bed and began his own rest.

* * *

When they checked their beds in the morning, they were very glad that they had switched rooms. It was clear that if they had stayed in the one assigned to them, they'd've all died. The room was an absolute mess, and the work had been done by swords. Worse, the stables had been opened in the night, and all the ponies set free.

Tizzy, being the insufferably stubborn thing she was, had come back around, though, and they wouldn't have to wait around town for something to be found. Nob saw them provisioned, though with far more than one horse could carry. Gelin saw to it that the weight was not a problem, quickly shrinking the lot once there were no watchers about, and putting it all in her saddle bags. Only the pots remained strapped to the saddle, as it would certainly look queer if there were nothing and no one on her back.

The company left quickly, heading out and eastward from the town, more than ready to be quit of the place. They set off on the main road, followed closely by children and curious, most of them wanting to know what Gelin was doing hanging about a Ranger. They passed Bill Ferny's house, only to see him suddenly fighting with his own apple tree as some of the roots seemed to have grown rather suddenly and tripped him up. Gelin's face didn't change, but there was amusement in his eyes that Frodo recognized as a prank gone right. After all, they were fairly certain that Ferny had sold them out to the Black Riders.

At last they left the village behind. The escort of children and stragglers that had followed them got tired and turned back at the South-gate. Passing through, they kept on along the Road for some miles. It bent to the left, curving back into its eastward line as it rounded the feet of Bree-hill, and then it began to run swiftly downwards into wooded country. To their left they could see some of the houses and hobbit-holes of Staddle on the gentler south-eastern slopes of the hill; down in a deep hollow away north of the Road there were wisps of rising smoke that showed where Combe lay; Archet was hidden in the trees beyond.

After the Road had run down some way, and had left Bree-hill standing tall and brown behind, they came on a narrow track that led off towards the North. "This is where we leave the open and take to cover," said Strider.

"Not a 'short cut', I hope," said Pippin. "Our last short cut through woods nearly ended in disaster."

"Nothing to worry about," said Gelin. "Strider knows where he's going." Strider nodded in acknowledgement, then took a look up and down the Road. No one was in sight; and he led the way quickly down towards the wooded valley.

His plan, as far as they could understand it without knowing the country, was to go towards Archet at first, but to bear right and pass it on the east, and then to steer as straight as he could over the wild lands to Weathertop Hill. In that way they would, if all went well, cut off a great loop of the Road, which further on bent southwards to avoid the Midgewater Marshes. But, of course, they would have to pass through the marshes themselves, and Strider's description of them was not encouraging.

However, in the meanwhile, walking was not unpleasant. Indeed, if it had not been for the disturbing events of the night before, they would have enjoyed this part of the journey better than any up to that time. The sun was shining, clear but not too hot. The woods in the valley were still leafy and full of color, and seemed peaceful and wholesome. Strider guided them confidently among the many crossing paths, although left to themselves they would soon have been at a loss. He was taking a wandering course with many turns and doublings, to put off any pursuit.

"Bill Ferny will have watched where we left the Road, for certain," he said, "though I don't think he will follow us himself. He knows the land round here well enough, but he knows he is not a match for me in a wood. It is what he may tell others that I am afraid of. I don't suppose they are far away. If they think we have made for Archet, so much the better."

They spent a couple days of their journey quite miserably as it tracked through the Marshes and the midges tried to eat them all alive. There were crickets that wouldn't be silent at night, and no one got any rest while they were among the reeds and waters.

They had not gone far on the fifth day when they left the last straggling pools and reed-beds of the marshes behind them. The land before them began steadily to rise again. Away in the distance eastward they could now see a line of hills. The highest of them was at the right of the line and a little separated from the others. It had a conical top, slightly flattened at the summit.

"That is Weathertop," said Strider. "The Old Road, which we have left far away on our right, runs to the south of it and passes not far from its foot. We might reach it by noon tomorrow, if we go straight towards it. I suppose we had better do so."

"What do you advise us to do?" asked Gelin.

"I think," answered Strider slowly, as if he was not quite sure, "I think the best thing is to go as straight eastward from here as we can, to make for the line of hills, not for Weathertop. There we can strike a path I know that runs at their feet; it will bring us to Weathertop from the north and less openly. Then we shall see what we shall see."

All that day they plodded along, until the cold and early evening came down. The land became drier and more barren; but mists and vapors lay behind them on the marshes. A few melancholy birds were piping and wailing, until the round red sun sank slowly into the western shadows; then an empty silence fell.

At the day's end they came to a stream that wandered down from the hills to lose itself in the stagnant marshland, and they went up along its banks while the light lasted. It was already night when at last they halted and made their camp under some stunted alder trees by the shores of the stream. Ahead there loomed now against the dusky sky the bleak and treeless backs of the hills. That night they set a watch, Strider and Gelin once again sharing it. The moon was waxing, and in the early night hours a cold, grey light lay on the land.

Next morning they set out again soon after sunrise. There was a frost in the air, and the sky was a pale clear blue. The hobbits felt refreshed, as if they had had a night of unbroken sleep. Already they were getting used to much walking on short commons, shorter at any rate than what in the Shire they would have thought barely enough to keep them on their legs. Pippin declared that Frodo was looking twice the hobbit that he had been.

"Very odd," said Frodo, tightening his belt, "considering that there is actually a good deal less of me. I hope the thinning process will not go on indefinitely, or I shall become a wraith."

Gelin glared at him. "Not funny, brother."

The hills drew nearer. They made an undulating ridge, often rising almost to a thousand feet, and here and there falling again to low clefts or passes leading into the eastern land beyond. Along the crest of the ridge the hobbits could see what looked to be the remains of green-grown walls and dikes, and in the clefts there still stood the ruins of old works of stone. By night they had reached the feet of the westward slopes, and there they camped. It was the night of the fifth of October, and they were six days out from Bree.

In the morning they found, for the first time since they had left the Chetwood, a track plain to see. They turned right and followed it southwards. It ran cunningly, taking a line that seemed chosen so as to keep as much hidden as possible from the view, both of the hill-tops above and of the flats to the west. It dived into dells, and hugged steep banks; and where it passed over flatter and more open ground on either side of it there were lines of large boulders and hewn stones that screened the travelers almost like a hedge.

"I wonder who made this path, and what for," said Merry, as they walked along one of these avenues, where the stones were unusually large and closely set. "I am not sure that I like it: it has a—well, rather a barrow-wightish look. Is there any barrow on Weathertop?"

"No. There is no barrow on Weathertop, nor on any of these hills," answered Strider. "The Men of the West did not live here; though in their latter days they defended the hills for a while against the evil that came out of Angmar. This path was made to serve the forts along the walls. But long before, in the first days of the North Kingdom, they built a great watch-tower on Weathertop, Amon Sul they called it. It was burned and broken, and nothing remains of it now but a tumbled ring, like a rough crown on the old hill's head. Yet once it was tall and fair. It is told that Elendil stood there watching for the coming of Gil-galad out of the West, in the days of the Last Alliance."

The hobbits gazed at Strider. It seemed that he was learned in old lore, as well as in the ways of the wild. "Who was Gil-galad?" asked Merry; but Strider did not answer, and seemed to be lost in thought. Suddenly a low voice murmured:

 _Gil-galad was an Elven-king._  
 _Of him the harpers sadly sing:_  
 _the last whose realm was fair and free_  
 _between the Mountains and the Sea._

 _His sword was long, his lance was keen,_  
 _his shining helm afar was seen;_  
 _the countless stars of heaven's field_  
 _were mirrored in his silver shield._

 _But long ago he rode away,_  
 _and where he dwelleth none can say;_  
 _for into darkness fell his star_  
 _in Mordor where the shadows are._

The others turned in amazement, for the voice was Sam's.

"Don't stop!" said Merry.

"That's all I know," stammered Sam, blushing. "I learned it from Mr. Bilbo when I was a lad. He used to tell me tales like that, knowing how I was always one for hearing about Elves. It was Mr. Bilbo as taught me my letters. He was mighty book-learned was dear old Mr. Bilbo. And he wrote poetry. He wrote what I have just said."

"He did not make it up," said Strider. "It is part of the lay that is called The Fall of Gil-galad, which is in an ancient tongue. Bilbo must have translated it. I never knew that."

"There was a lot more," said Sam, "all about Mordor. I didn't learn that part, it gave me the shivers I never thought I should be going that way myself!"

"Going to Mordor!" cried Pippin. "I hope it won't come to that!"

"Do not speak that name so loudly!" said Strider.

When they reached Weathertop, Frodo stayed with Gelin and Strider as they went up its path to see if any sign had been left. They found a stone marked with a G and three dots, and could only assume that it meant Gandalf had been there on the third of October, but there were no other signs or messages, and they didn't really know what to make of it, save that he'd been in too great a hurry to leave anything more detailed.

Gelin looked down where they had left the others to camp and was upset, though not shocked, to see they had started a fire. They quickly ran back to the camp, knowing the fire will have been spotted. They were far too open this close to the hills!

But they were too late. Over the lip of the little dell, on the side away from the hill, they felt, rather than saw, a shadow rise, one shadow or more than one. They strained their eyes, and the shadows seemed to grow. Soon there could be no doubt: three or four tall black figures were standing there on the slope, looking down on them. So black were they that they seemed like black holes in the deep shade behind them. Frodo thought that he heard a faint hiss as of venomous breath and felt a thin piercing chill. Then the shapes slowly advanced.

Terror came at them in a wave. Gelin stood steady against it, as did Strider, both men knowing battle and war as the hobbits could not, and therefore how to control their fears. But they also had their weapons out and ready, including, for Gelin, his wand.

For Frodo, however, his terror was subsumed in a desire to put the Ring on his finger. He did not forget the warnings of Gandalf or his brother, but something seemed to be compelling him to disregard all warnings, and he longed to yield. Not with the hope of escape, or of doing anything, either good or bad: he simply felt that he must take the Ring and put it on his finger. He could not speak. He felt Sam looking at him, as if he knew that his master was in some great trouble, but he could not turn towards him. He shut his eyes and struggled for a while; but resistance became unbearable, and at last he slowly drew out the chain, and—

Gelin's hand was suddenly on his, and he dropped the Ring. "It's drawing you in Frodo. It wants to be found, and if you try to wield it, they will know. They are slaves to its Master."

Then they could speak no more. The Wraith were upon them and they were in the fight of their lives. Gelin refused to hold back any longer when his brother and friends were in such acute danger, so he first cast his Patronus. Prongs went charging into their midst, attempting to gore the Wraiths on his antlers. Then he started chain-casting fireballs with a spell he had invented, _incendio sphaera._ The fire drove them off and injured them, and Prongs dancing among the fires injured and blinded them with the purity of his light. It wasn't long before the foul creatures retreated.

Strider came close to him, his face very impressed. But he wasn't cheerful. "That won't hold them long. We need to be on our way, and quickly."

They packed up as soon as it was light, had a cold breakfast, and were on their way as quickly as possible. They started off in a southerly direction. This would mean crossing the Road, but it was the quickest way to more wooded country. It was also his plan to shorten their journey by cutting across another great loop of the Road: east beyond Weathertop it changed its course and took a wide bend northwards.

They made their way slowly and cautiously round the south-western slopes of the hill, and came in a little while to the edge of the Road. There was no sign of the Riders. But even as they were hurrying across they heard far away two cries: a cold voice calling and a cold voice answering. Trembling they sprang forward, and made for the thickets that lay ahead. The land before them sloped away southwards, but it was wild and pathless; bushes and stunted trees grew in dense patches with wide barren spaces in between. The grass was scanty, coarse, and grey; and the leaves in the thickets were faded and falling. It was a cheerless land, and their journey was slow and gloomy. Tizzy had been well and truly spooked by the Wraiths and stuck close to the party with no complaining as they went.

* * *

 _Note: Great swaths of this chapter were taken directly from the book. This is because I'm pants at long descriptive passages, but I thought they needed to be there for atmosphere. I promise to do better in the next one._


End file.
